


You make everything so clear

by wonthetrade



Series: my head's not bowed [14]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, K-drama References, K-pop References, Variety show references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: A few days into development camp her phone lights up with a message from an unknown number.It’s Eichel. Screen shot this and send it to Marns so he’ll stop harassing me.Clarissa’s lips twitch.Don’t worry, I won’t imprint on you.You’re sassy. You can stay.





	You make everything so clear

**Author's Note:**

> You guys know the drill by now! 
> 
> If you know someone or are someone tagged or described, turn back now. We promise you'll thank us. 
> 
> Special thanks to you guys for being so patient while we worked through this and life. We appreciate it beyond measure. 
> 
> THINGS OF NOTE:  
> 1) Clarissa takes place in the context of GB as we've built it. If you have questions, consult the other main stories. They tackle the changes we had to make to canon (eg: which trades fall where). 
> 
> 2) This was in the editing stages before Pu got traded. As a result, the trade doesn't exist for the purposes of our universe.
> 
> 3) Yes we kept her up during the 2017-2018 season. Artistic license *jazz hands*

A few days into development camp her phone lights up with a message from an unknown number. _It’s Eichel. Screen shot this and send it to Marns so he’ll stop fucking harassing me._

Clarissa’s lips twitch. Dylan had given her the heads up, so she’d been expecting something of a welcome-to-the-NHL message. Perhaps a bit more formal, but this is definitely something she can work with. _Don’t worry, I won’t imprint on you._

_You’re sassy. You can stay._

That cracks her up. Any thoughts of being intimidated flit away and she thinks rather wistfully about what it would be like to actually play with Jack this season. But these last few days with the other rookies have shown her that she’s definitely going to need the time to develop before she even sees a Sabres’ training camp. And that’s fine, her style of hockey is so subtle that she _needs_ the time to get it to the point where it’ll work in the Show.

Still, Jack’s brand of hockey is amazing to watch. She’s just so powerful and dynamic on the ice that Clarissa’s kind of envious. Even though they play the same position, their playing styles are wildly different and hell, Clarissa’s still trying to figure hers out. Refine it. Or something.

_Real talk though. Everything okay at camp? Reino’s there and will back you up if you need it, without question._

It takes Clarissa a moment to parse that one. She hasn’t seen a Sabre outside of the coaching staff, as of yet. She’s simultaneously smiling just a little though, because Jack’s not assuming she can’t take care of herself. In fact, it’s the exact opposite, and Clarissa shakes out the new feeling of playing with another woman who gets it.

_Nah it’s fine. The guys are cool, just had to stop them from calling me Clary._

_Ew, no. I’m still mad at those books. No poo nicknames?_

Those kind of nicknames ceased being funny or creative by the time she was ten, and she says so. _Most yell my name, giggle, then get used to it._

_They’re probably going to stick to that._

_Well, it is my name._ There’s a kid in London whose last name is Cocagne, which in her opinion is much worse.

Jack’s offer of protection doesn’t make sense until they’re off the ice, Clarissa feeling unsettled at the lack of chemistry with her lineys, but calmed by the idea that they have time. There’s a commotion when they troop back into the locker room, but she pays it no mind. She can ignore her sweaty hair on the ice because there’s hockey, but once she’s out of the artificially cooled air, her head starts to itch with how gross it is under her helmet. It’s the first thing she does in the locker room - slide off her helmet and shake out her hair.

When she turns, it’s Sam Reinhart catching her eye, coming her way. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he makes his way around the room, stripping off her equipment as she lets him make his way to her. He greets everyone on his way and Clarissa finds herself tipping her head just a little. He has a nice smile, she thinks, fluffy hair.

“Clarissa, right?” he asks, extending his hand. “Sam. Jack asked me to come and say hi.”

Without skates, she and Sam are the same height. She likes his handshake, firm without testing. She likes his smile even better up close, genuine and without guile and finds herself flashing him one of her own. “I know, she told me.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t even look surprised. “She was really excited when you were drafted, even though she’ll never admit it.”

Given their very brief conversation, Clarissa can believe it. “You guys will definitely be seeing me around, I promise that.”

Something flashes across Sam’s face, the same fierceness Clarissa feels when she thinks about the NHL, and Clarissa feels her stomach flip. That something turns into a bright smile as he says, “Looking forward to it.”

After that, her summer is pretty normal. She goes on little trips with friends, trains with Team Canada’s U18 women’s team and persuades her parents to take her out for _yum cha_ every weekend she’s home. By now the servers don’t even blink twice at the amount of food she tucks away, but merely chuckle and give her more. Her parents are equally indulgent; her mom is always worried about on-ice hits, and thinks the more padding she has, the better.

Just getting to this stage has been a struggle, not just on the ice but off it. There’d been plenty of opposition from her family when she brought up putting her name forward for the OHL draft. She has a sneaking suspicion that her parents had indulged her, letting her play for so long because they believed she’d eventually grow out of it or lose interest. They couldn’t see a future for her in hockey, and she couldn’t see anything _but_ a future in hockey.

Hockey is her dream, and she’ll accept no substitutes.

That’s why she cherishes moments like these, where her mom is fussing and saying she needs to eat more so that she can be stronger on the ice. It signifies some hard-won acceptance, and she never takes moments like that for granted. After all, she loves her parents, and she loves dim sum.

“You love me more than you love dim sum, right?” Mitch asks, because they still call each other, probably more than they should. It’s not her fault. Mitch is an extrovert and hates being alone. With Dylan down in Arizona for pre-pre-season training, McDavid in Montreal for World Cup, and everyone else all over the place, Mitch is alone enough that he gets antsy. Clarissa hates antsy Mitch.

She snorts and cradles her phone against her ear. “I love dim sum only slightly more than I love hockey, so how can I love you more than I love dim sum?”

He squawks. “You’re my favourite teammate!”

“Favorite _former_ teammate,” she counters cheerfully. For all that he crows about being able to wind Dylan up, Mitch is pretty easy to wind up as well. “I’ve seen the videos. It’s all Marner and Matthews now.”

“Lies! You know you’re number one in-”

“Your heart? Also lies. Everyone knows Stromer is number one.”

“Well, yeah. It’s Stromer,” he replies, voice going hilariously dreamy.  “Hey, speaking of both Stromer and Matts, are you going to be in town during the World Cup?”

Clarissa pauses. “You going to make it worth my while?”

“Don’t I always?”

Which is how she ends up sitting beside Jack Eichel, and across from Auston Matthews and Connor McDavid in a dim Toronto restaurant. It reinstates Mitch as her favorite Knight - still not above dim sum, Mitch, seriously.

Jack is every bit as grumpy and dryly hilarious in person. “You and me kid,” Jack tells her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “We’re going to do some fucking amazing things in Buffalo.”

“Kid? I’m not that much younger than you,” Clarissa laughs, more amused than anything else.

Jack jerks her thumb over at Connor. “I’ve called him kid before. It’s a thing.”

“It’s not a thing,” is the dry response, and Clarissa likes that about McDavid too.

Clarissa just likes them all. Mitch, of course. Dylan who, keeps Mitch in his place and makes a mess of him in equal measure; McDavid who is contradictory in how reserved and contained he is, and yet how easily he reaches for Jack, and Dylan when she’s not attached to Mitch; Jack, and then Auston, who is just so incredibly mellow, layered with intense focus.

“You and I are going to be friends,” she announces, draping a companionable arm over Auston’s shoulders. “I’m adopting you.”

Auston looks amused. “Is this a London thing? First Chucky at NTDP, then Marns, now you...”

“We’re like bad pennies that way,” Mitch declares.

Dylan snorts. “Tell me about it. I haven’t been able to get rid of this kid since we were like, ten.”

She feels a bit of pang, knowing that she’s going to miss out on the Show while the rest of them will be playing. Auston’s definitely going to be playing for the Leafs, the whole _world_ has seen what she’s capable of during the last few World Cup games. Clarissa wants to be out there, wants to be playing with all of them. But Mitch and Dylan went back down to juniors too last year. They’ve paid their dues, and did their fair share of damage while they were at it. She’s going to do the same.

One year, Clarissa promises herself. One year to make her game so that she really has a shot at making the Sabres’ roster. One year to bulk up and get even faster, even stronger, even better on the ice.

It’s a good thing she’s not afraid of hard work.

* * *

 

After a grueling season with the Knights and a failed Memorial Cup run – which is just depressing considering she’d been on a team that steamrolled their way through that tournament only a year ago – Clarissa’s summer is much like the years before. With the exception of one major invite she’d been hoping for so hard.

That summer, she finally goes to Biosteel Camp. It’s the first time she meets a lot of the women she’s determined to play with some day. There’s Dylan, of course, and Jack too – it’s nice to spend some time with her, given they’re slotted for the same team. But it’s also her introduction to women like Tyler, Mal and Mike. She wastes no time making friends.

“So, shopping buddies?” she asks Tyler and Mal with a grin. Tyler squeals with delight and Dylan makes a horrified noise.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into-” she begins, but Clarissa just laughs.

“Dude. I _love_ shopping.”

Dylan looks at Mike in despair, and the other woman only shrugs pragmatically. “Hey, Steph is my best friend. I’m used to being dragged around at this point.”

“We are _so_ having a Girl’s Night Out this week,” Tyler says with relish, eyes sparkling. “Dressing up is mandatory and yes, that means you too Dylan.”

“As long as you pick what I’m wearing, and the hair and makeup and stuff.”

Jack scoffs and nudges her. “Whatever, Stromer. You like it, as long as you’re not the one putting in the effort.”

“That would be because I have no aptitude for it,” is the haughty reply and Clarissa just laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Don’t worry Stromer, I think you’re covered.”

(The Instagram photo of all of them glammed up, with the caption, ‘Work hard, play hard,’ goes viral.)

Someone puts her in charge of the music one day and she snickers a little bit to herself as she connects her phone to the speakers. They have no idea what they’re about to unleash. Even Dylan and McDavid don’t say anything, which makes her think that Mitch has been keeping his mouth shut, for once. Or maybe the Knights have just gotten used to her musical taste.

Heads go up across the locker room as the first, driving beats of 4minute’s “Crazy” begin to play.

“Yo, Pu, what is this?” Mal exclaims, delighted. Her foot taps along to the beat. “Oh my god, this is _sick._ ”

“Come to the dark side, we have cute boy bands and super awesome girl bands.” In some other universe where she’s not playing hockey, she’s probably a trainee at an entertainment company. It’s not that far of a stretch: her singing’s not bad, her dancing is actually pretty decent. It’s also difficult to imagine a version of herself that isn’t willing to put forward the blood, sweat, and tears it takes to succeed at just about anything.

The fact that she’s playing hockey is just some happy twist of universes.

Mal laughs. “Sounds dangerous, I’m in.”

Mike raises her hand. “Me too.”

Across the room, Jack sighs. “I’m going to get dragged into this either way, aren’t I?”

“Stuck with us forever,” Tyler sing-songs badly, throwing an arm around her neck. Jack rolls her eyes and, catching Clarissa’s eye, mouths, _you’re dead to me._ She doesn’t believe her, not one bit. Jack’s pretty easy to figure out. Diamond exterior, ultra marshmallow interior. It’s just one of the many things that makes her happy that she’s playing hockey.

She also spends a lot of quality time with Mitch when she’s back in the GTA, at least until Auston takes pity on his pouting and drags Jack up with her for a week while Dylan’s away with family. They’re half way through a rather raucous lunch - for Clarissa, Mitch and Jack anyway, Auston her regularly reserved self - when Auston puts down her cutlery during a lull in arguments and reaches for her phone.

“Chucky sent me something I need you to explain,” she says, and holds her phone up to face Mitch and Clarissa.

The video’s pretty grainy, but Clarissa knows exactly what it is from the first strains of music and the screams from the crowd.

“Why do I know that song?” Jack squints at the screen. “Wait, that’s _you,_ Lissy. Holy _shit,_ is that you, Marns? And...fuckin’ Chucky?!?!”

And Vic, Kole, Dvo, and Jonesy. “Ah yes, that brief moment when we were K-pop stars.” Clarissa shakes her head. Turning hockey players into a boy band for a Knights’ showcase was no mean feat, and that was _after_ she’d gotten the guys with the best dance skills on the team. And best was probably relative. “Do you know how hard it was to teach them [that choreography](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7RL1V15OTY)?”

“Do you know how hard it was to _learn_ that choreography?” Mitch counters, just as his past self comes flying over the other members in the video. The tinny phone speakers ring with awed cheers. “That. That jump, right there. How many times did I fall on Dvo because Jonesy didn’t give me enough of a boost?”

Jack smacks him, making him yelp. “Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate here. Jesus, you made them do BTS?”

Clarissa’s foot taps helplessly along with the beat even as her brow knits. “Wait. What am I supposed to explain, exactly?”

“Where have you been hiding those dance skills?” is Auston’s answer, shaking her head like she still can’t believe it. “And how does no one know about this?”

“Chucky only sent it to you because we found that one song we did exhausted at the Mem Cup,” Mitch interrupts. “Remember, Liss, the one with the crab dance?”

Clarissa leans across the table to high-five him while Jack’s face contorts, presumably trying to figure out what a crab dance looks like. “You still remember Gee?”

Mitch grins. “Hell yes, that’s my forever jam. I probably still remember some of this one too, you drilled it into our heads so much. Seriously, that one-” He points at her, even as he looks at Jack and Auston. “-is a perfectionist. She made us keep all of the original formations even though it meant having to diagram every single one of them like a play.”

Clarissa winces. There had been a _lot_ of diagrams. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I’m still missing the part where Clarissa Pu is a secret dancer,” Auston breaks in.

Clarissa places her hand over her heart dramatically, just to get Mitch to giggle. “I had to make a choice, many, many years ago. Do I become a star, or do I become a hockey player.”

“That explains all the dancing at Biosteel!” Jack exclaims. “You legit used to dance!”

“Some of us play baseball, some of us dance,” is Clarissa’s response.

“Then why have we never seen this video?” Jack asks. “You’d think Chucky would have shown us. And you’d think Marns would’ve shown it to Stromer to try and prove that he’s actually cool.”

“I _am_ cool,” Mitch protests.

It does seem silly, now that she thinks about it. Chucky, for one thing, is not above this level of chirping-slash-blackmail. For another, it would have been high quality PR going into the playoffs last year, let alone the Mem Cup. “Probably got caught up in the showcase, the playoffs, the Cup…” She looks to Mitch for support. “We were probably pretty focused on that?”

“I bet if you posted it now it would be pretty popular.”

Mitch grins at Auston. “Think PR would give me hell for it?”

She smirks back. “Better to ask for forgiveness, right? It’s just dancing.”

Clarissa wiggles in her seat, tickled by the very idea. “Come on Mitch. People should see it. Like the popcorn.”

“You probably liked it a lot, didn’t you Matts?” Jack asks slyly as Mitch busies himself with his phone, cheeks a little pink because that’s how he gets when he’s shyly excited. “Chucky looked like he had some moves, there.”

Clarissa feels the hum of good gossip, though Auston merely coughs politely. “He’s always had moves,” is the neutral response.

Clarissa can’t help the crowing laugh, even as Mitch’s head comes up so fast there’s a small piece of her mind that wonders if he hurt himself. “Really?! He never said!”

“It was nothing,” she says, cheeks a little pink as she darts her gaze to Mitch. Clarissa’s eyes widen as she watches. She’d thought Auston and Chucky was the story, but the way Mitch looks like a deer in the headlights and Auston looks like she’d rather discuss literally anything else makes her think that maybe there’s a different story forming on the Leafs.

“Matts-”

“Sid’s hockey school,” Mitch blurts. “I want all the dirt, Dyls and Matts wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Jack picks up the topic, whether because she’s sympathetic to Auston’s desire to keep gossip quiet or because she’s genuinely excited - probably both, from the way her eyes flash.

“There were so many more of us this year,” she says, meeting Clarissa’s eyes. “There were some Chinese students there Lissy, she definitely has to ask you next year.”

“I don’t want her to ask me because of that!” she protests.

Jack flicks her forehead. “Don’t be dumb. You know how important it is for them to see you playing, and for them to see you there.”

Clarissa clutches her forehead, pouting. “Oh come on, I know _that,_ it’s just-”

“You think that’s the only reason Sid would invite you?” Auston volunteers shrewdly, looking more relaxed now that they’ve changed the subject. “Jack’s right, don’t be dumb. You know that Sid is making it her mission to collect all the women under her roof.”

“Or Dani is just doing it for her. Either way, Sid wants everyone there. _Everyone._ ”

Mitch sulks. “We’re not invited though. I want in on that fire hockey.”

“Not even Malkin’s invited for this,” Jack retorts, unimpressed. “What makes you think that you’d be able to slide in like it’s a DM?”

It all goes downhill from there, really. They exit the restaurant, Jack and Mitch still arguing good-naturedly, when Clarissa and Mitch’s notifications start pinging like crazy. “What the heck, Mitchy?” she mumbles, fumbling for her phone.

Huh. Looks like their little old dance video has gone viral. Must be the BTS effect.

“Cool,” Mitch remarks. “We definitely have to do another one, Lissy. You, me, Matts, Hyms, Willy, and Brownie.”

“Wait, I am not getting roped into this,” Auston protests immediately. “I can’t dance-”

“But Hyms can.” And while Mitch says it matter of factly, he rolls his shoulders the way he used to when the press asked about Dylan, a little agitated, like he’s trying to shrug off something weird. “He’ll help you.”

“Mitch-”

“What? I’m not wrong, Matts.”

“I’m not saying you are but you can’t push-”

“Mitch always pushes,” Clarissa interjects after exchanging a look with Jack.

Auston latches onto the interruption in a blink. “Did I tell you about the time Mo was bugging him and he tried to shove him on the ice but literally bounced off?”

“Bounced off?” Jack asks blankly and it clicks.

Clarissa bursts out laughing. “Meaning that Mo is _thick_ and it’s Newton’s third law, especially with Mitchy’s skinny self.”

“Rude. You’re all being incredibly rude, especially after all the PR I just gave us.”

* * *

 

Training camp and the preseason are tough. There are a few times when she thinks that’s it, she’s being sent down again. It’s not that another season in the O would be terrible, but she thinks she’s grown as much as she can there. There’s nothing like the experience you gain in the NHL, especially since the AHL isn’t an option until she turns 20.

She’s been a bundle of nerves throughout the preseason, wondering if this was going to be the game when they’d send her back. There’s still a lot to work on with her playing style; she knows the coaching staff want more from her two-way game, that the trainers want her to put on more muscle to increase her speed… the list is long enough to feel like a good challenge.

But somehow the stars align, she and Alex just click on the ice, and her seemingly temporary stay in Buffalo turns into a full-time billet with the Moulsons. “We had to fight the Okposos for you,” Matt tells her proudly as they move her into Jack’s old room. “Alicia and I insisted.”

“They get Alex anyway,” Alicia laughs and it’s not like Clarissa had a preference, really, because she’s in the Show and it’s not like the team is full of bad apples. There’s still a real comfort in knowing Matt and Alicia - and by extension Mila and Georgie - are used to navigating the unique experience of being a female NHL player in her rookie season.

There are so many congratulatory texts on her phone, from Jack and Auston and Dylan. Mitch, of course, sends her about twenty of them, mostly emojis, and leaves a voicemail that is all screaming interspersed with possibly real sobbing and something about following in his footsteps. She shoots back a laugh-crying emoji and makes a mental note to chirp the hell out of him when they next Facetime.

The message that really throws her for a loop though is from Sidney Crosby. The number is unknown, but there’s no mistaking the message: _Hi Clarissa, this is Sidney Crosby. Glad to see you’re still up, and I’ll see you in Pittsburgh._

Clarissa sits down hard, blinking at it utter disbelief.

 _Sidney Crosby just texted me,_ she sends to Auston.

_About what?_

_Making the roster. She said, “see you in Pittsburgh.”_

_That’s cool. Wait, you’re freaking out, aren’t you?_

Clarissa, because the emphasis is important, sends four messages in response:

_IT’S_

_SIDNEY_

_CROSBY_

_AUSTON._

Her phone buzzes. “You should be celebrating, not freaking out because Sidney Crosby texted you.”

“It’s not freaking out, not really. It isn’t!” she insists when Auston makes a disbelieving noise on the other side of the line. “It’s...it just makes everything a bit more real, you know? I knew I’d have to work hard - _really_ hard in order to make the roster. And I know I’ve done really fucking well, because I’m here, but I don’t know, hearing from her is just...wow.”

Auston’s silent for a moment and Clarissa just closes her eyes, doing the yoga breathing the trainers taught her. “Sid’s pretty cool, but you get over the awe once she’s a shit to you on the ice.”

That breaks the tension, just like she needed it to. Straightforward, practical Auston is quickly becoming her spot of calm in the chaos that is her introduction to the NHL. And it’s not that Jack hasn’t been amazing because she has, it’s just that they’re both high energy people and Auston is apparently good at grounding them. “Of course she’s a shit on the ice, we’ve all seen it.”

Auston chuckles. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, serious. “You know you don’t need her - or any of us, for that matter - for validation, right?”

“Of course I do,” she snorts. “I know my own worth. It’s just nice to hear from people I you know, admire and respect. Come on, I grew up with her poster on my wall!”

“...I did too.”

“HAH! I knew it.”

“Have a good season, all right?” Then, a beat later, “Not too good though, since you know we’ll kick your asses.”

“Oooh, them’s fighting words, Auston Matthews, fighting words.”

Matt’s waiting outside the little dressing room she shares with Jack, and the proud grin on his face makes her want to dance the entire way down the hallway. “I think this calls for a celebration. Do you want to eat out tonight? I can tell Alicia and we can arrange for someone to watch the kids, invite Jack and Sam maybe?”

“Nah,” she responds, thinking it over. She wants Mila and Georgie to be there, it wouldn’t be right to celebrate without them. “I think I’ll cook.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that negate the purpose of celebrating, if you’re the one cooking?”

“Not at all. Kind of the opposite, really.” After all, what better way to celebrate than to share food you’ve cooked, with love, with people you care about? “And we can use the plates that Mom sent.”

Clarissa’s mom, in what was either a startling sense of precognition or pure optimism about her chances of staying up, had packed a set of gorgeous plates and lacquered chopsticks as a gift for her billet family. It’s another sign of her family’s acceptance of her dream, and it means everything.

“They’re too beautiful!” Alicia had cried, cradling the blue and white plates like they might shatter at any moment. “We can’t possibly-”

“Use them when I cook for you guys?” She cheerfully steamrolled _that_ argument. “Trust me, that’s what they’re for, and do you really want to look my mom in the face the next time my parents come to visit and say you haven’t used them?”

“It’ll be good practice for us and the kids,” Matt said, because one of the first things Clarissa did when she realized she was moving in with the Moulsons was buy training chopsticks for Mila and Georgie to go with their parents’ gift.

“I guess I can’t fault your logic there,” Matt says in the present. “Do we need to get groceries?”

Clarissa’s already pulling up the directions to the nearest Asian grocery store. “On it!”

Jack and Sam come over a few hours later, and while Mila and Georgie drag Jack and Matt to the living room, Sam comes ambling into the kitchen. “Can I help?” he asks, hands in his pockets, rocking lightly back on his heels.

She points the butcher knife in his direction, before realizing how threatening that looks. She tucks it away sheepishly while he chuckles. “Hey, I already chased Alicia out of here, what makes you think I’ll let you stay, too?”

“Not my kitchen,” is the easy reply. When he smiles, his face creases in a way that’s too deep to be a dimple, but too small to be a true smile line. It flashes to life here, and she can’t help but return the smile. “Besides, it looks like you have a lot of things to do.” He nods towards the counter.

“Actually, it only looks like it.” Her mom is obsessed with a proper _mise en place_ which means there was always a lot of chopping and prepping at the beginning of the cooking process, but it makes everything else really easy. “But you can cook the broccoli and make the sauce for it.”

“Got it.” At her direction, he sets the water to boil, preps the strainer, and mixes together the sauce to let it simmer away on the stovetop, moving just as smoothly in the kitchen as he does on the ice. “I like your music.”

The wok for the beef and tomatoes is sizzling hot but that doesn’t stop her from doing a little dance move. “Of course. Cooking and dancing go together.” Unless she’s picked a more calm and soothing playlist, but the one going right now is bright and bouncy, girl groups only.

“You’re not going to make me dance, right?”

“Kind of a requirement,” she teases, bumping her hip against his. For a moment there it looks like he’s blushing, but it’s probably just the steam from the chicken and the general heat from the stovetop.

He just stirs the broccoli, refusing to take the bait. “Somehow, I manage to cook just fine without the dancing, Clarissa.” His face scrunches up, like Georgie when he tastes something new and can’t decide whether he likes it or not.

“Something wrong with my name?” she teases.

Sam considers it for a moment. “It seems...formal.”

True. None of her teammates have ever called her by her full name - classmates and acquaintances, sure, but never teammates. Nowadays, she only hears it from the coaching staff and management. “It’s definitely formal - and dancing definitely isn’t,” Clarissa muses, continuing to bump her hip against his. “It makes you happier, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t call my dancing happy-”

“I’d call it sad,” Jack drawls from the doorway, Georgie and Mila clinging to her legs.

“Me! I want to dance!” Mila cries, detaching herself from Jack’s leg and busting out the choreography Clarissa taught her yesterday.

She grins while Jack and Sam applaud, and with one last toss of the wok, plates the beef. “After dinner, okay Mila? We’re ready to eat - Sam, if you could just drain the broccoli and then toss it in the sauce. Jack, can you bring the rice pot to the table?”

Her spot at the table is between Georgie and Mila so that she can help them with their chopsticks. They’re not picky eaters at all, much to her delight, and the chopsticks are a fun little challenge for them as they eat.

The adults aren’t quite so good with the chopsticks, especially Jack. She glares at them as they clatter back to her plate for the umpteenth time and asks, “Can I switch to a fork?”

“Should I have gotten training chopsticks for you too, Eichs?” Clarissa asks sweetly, deftly avoiding a kick beneath the table. “It just takes lots of practice.”

“I like chopsticks, they’re fun!” Mila declares, popping a piece of chicken into her mouth. “Can I practice too?”

“Of course! You can use chopsticks for lots of different types of food...”

* * *

 

The Sabres very don’t start the year the way they want. They lose more than they win and it becomes The Narrative. It’s frustrating on so many levels for Clarissa, not the least of which is the fact that she can’t stay away from it.

“It’s just stupid,” she mutters darkly, tea sloshing dangerously. “It’s not like we’re _trying_ to lose.”

“Kid, you really need to spend less time on the internet.”

Clarissa rolls her eyes. “That is so far from the point, Pomer. Staying off the internet just leaves me unprepared when reporters ask about it.”

“‘No comment,’ works well,” Kyle points out.

She sends him an unimpressed look. “Have you even skimmed the headlines in the last two weeks?”

“Kid-”

“Do not ‘kid’ me. It’s not like we can figure out what’s going wrong. It’s just nothing’s clicking!”

There’s a hand on her elbow, gentle and she whirls, tea still in hand, to find Sam’s wrinkled brow. “They’re looking for the story.”

“They have one, don’t they? Promising draft choices for a rebuild that aren’t turning out the way they wanted so the rebuild is obviously a failure, especially given the success of Toronto.”

Sam opens his mouth, but Clarissa is on a roll.

“I guess I get it in a sense. Who better to blame it on than a player that doesn’t seem to live up to the hype? But hey, newsflash, did you know, one play can’t single-handedly drag a team up the standings?”

“McDavid-”

She glares. “In this house, we don’t swear like that, Samson.” She raises a hand to stop Sam’s next argument. “Regardless of skill, national affiliation or relationship status.”

Sam’s mouth snaps shut with a satisfying click.

“It’s beside the point anyway.”

Sam stays silent, not that it would have mattered to Clarissa. She’s on a roll and she is determined to make her damn point.

“It’s going to take time. It’s not normal to have one brutal year and then magically win the Cup the next year. It’s not even how hockey works!” She’s so into her tirade she barely acknowledges Jack plopping down on Sam’s other side.

“What’s up with her?” Jack asks just under Clarissa’s voice.

“Sports headlines,” Sam murmurs back and Jack barks out a laugh loud enough to draw Clarissa’s attention.

“Rookie mistake,” she says and merely raises an eyebrow when Clarissa glares. “You can’t read your own press. You’d think the Knights of all organizations would teach you that.”

Clarissa scoffs. “My press? They’re not talking about me. Not outside the context of the ‘young team’ with ‘too many rookies’, anyway. Which is dumb in its own right.”

Sam’s brow knits. Confusion is adorable on his face, and that’s just an objective observation. “What are you reading?”

But Jack’s face has transformed into something a little amused and a lot of resignation. “The press is always going to find flaws,” she says, but there’s none of the hard steel in Jack’s voice that Clarissa is used to. It’s calm acceptance and instead of helping Clarissa calm down, it almost riles her up more.

“There’s no reason to! We’re a rebuilding team-“

“Don’t swear,” Jack objects, the amusement back on her face.

“We’re not going to have everything together after one freaking season!”

Sam’s head swivels back and forth between them. “She’s talking about you,” he says to Jack as realization dawns, cheeks going a little pink.

“Of course I am! Do you not read the news?”

“Not if it has the word Sabres in it, no,” he admits. “It’s not a good idea these days.”

“It’s never a good idea,” Jack repeats.

“How are you – you of all people! – okay with this? They’re-“

“I know what they’re saying,” Jack interrupts mildly. “They’ve been saying it for years. Take your pick of rebuilding teams, select their best player and they’re definitely doing better than what I’m doing here in Buffalo.”

“It’s bullshit,” Clarissa spits.

Jack’s eyes are steady and clear. “Exactly.”

Clarissa huffs. “How are you so calm about this?”

Jack’s just opening her mouth when Sam barks out a laugh. “Is that why Davo called this morning?”

“He can’t sleep because the Oilers keep losing and it’s driving me up the fucking wall,” Jack replies. “Late night Sportsnet rabbit holes are bad for everyone.”

Sam snorts.

Jack’s gaze is knowing when it meets Clarissa’s. “And. This kind of defense, while heart-warming, is entirely unnecessary.” She glances at Sam. “From either of you.”

Clarissa isn’t sure what to make of the gaze Sam shoots at her, nor the look Jack levels specifically his way. “I don’t have to like it.”

“You’d be really weird if you did,” Jack replies easily. “In the meantime, let it go. Move on, move forward, whatever canned press response I figure I’ll give to the press when they ask about it tonight.” She pushes herself up despite the fact that it feels to Clarissa like she’d just sat down. “I’ll see you losers on the ice.”

“It bothers her,” Clarissa murmurs when Jack’s out of earshot.

“It bothers me,” Sam replies. “Not so much with Jack, we know she can take care of herself, but she’s right about the press. You’re not reading your stuff, right?”

Clarissa waves a hand. “I’m smarter than that.”

“Good,” he says, soft but strong. “You guys – you women really – take a lot of flack for team issues that aren’t just your fault. You’re easy targets and that’s never okay.”

She tilts her head to the side and waits, makes sure the words she’s about to utter are exactly what she wants to say. “Jack is right,” she agrees, repeating his own words back to him. “As much as it’s appreciated, we can take care of ourselves. In the media too.”

“I have never believed anything different,” he answers. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t helpful to have someone else in your corner.”

It doesn’t haunt her through practice, per se, but there’s something still humming under her skin when she’s sprawled on the couch later. It’s enough that it’s keeping her from napping and as she looks down at Mila’s face, lax in sleep where she’s snuggled between Clarissa’s body and the couch, she resigns herself to needing help with this one.

 _Do you find your male teammates defend you when they don’t have to?_ She types into the Girl Brigade chat, because this goes far beyond the small groups that make up her other group chats.

 _Sid won’t say anything,_ Tyler writes back quickly, _but Geno used to be an easy penalty if you touched Sid_.

 _Connor punched a guy once when he broke his hand,_ Dylan replies. _Marns is too small to be a threat._

 _He tries though. It’s adorable,_ Auston sends.

 _Steph’s got some legendary tales about Jos and Webs_ , Mike offers. _I think I fought Willy for fun in practice once before I fought a dude in the NHL. Subban and Carey though._

Brenda agrees and adds, _Alex has a line. He’ll set some stuff go, but he’s played with me long enough to know I get myself in trouble._ She’s sent a grinning purple devil emoji along and it makes Clarissa laugh.

 _Mike’s right about Webs and Roman. I’ve got a few about Pekka too!_ comes through from Steph.

 _Freddy got pretty pissed last year with all the slump talk_ , Auston offers next. _Marty used to shove guys around on the ice for us last year. Mo’s hit a few guys harder than he has to for taking a run at me. Nothing more than hockey though_.

 _It’s a fine line,_ Tyler contributes. _Jamie didn’t always in the early days._

 _That’s because he spent a lot of time being an idiot_ , Ryan sends. _Taylor was hilarious when I first started, shoving guys around. Then I got my period and they kind of realized if I can handle that, I can probably handle anything doled out on the ice._

Clarissa huffs. _Okay, but the guys are all in love with the woman they’re defending. Except Matts_.

 _Wait,_ Dylan types, then sends a second later. _This isn’t about Reinhart’s post game?_

Jack, the traitor, sends a laugh-cry emoji and the link to Sam’s post-practice scrum. A scrum Clarissa had no idea he’d done.

“It’s not on Eichs or Pu,” Sam says in the video and Clarissa feels her breath inexplicably catch as she watches the steel in his eyes. “We’re here as a team and singling them out isn’t helping the team. We win as a team, we lose as a team, and having both of them… well, Jack’s a point a game player. Pu’s going to get there too. She’s a rookie and we’re losing. She’s not going to make a magical change every single day and it’s not fair to hold her to that standard.”

She flips back over to the group chat to see that chaos has descended.

 _LADIES WE HAVE ANOTHER ONE_ \- Mike

Ryan’s sent. _This is insane._

 _Didn’t we just solve a blinders on situation?_ Steph’s written.

 _It’s all we do. Honestly, we should get money for solving relationship problems._ Jack has finally joined the conversation. The messages are still coming in – there’s more than one side argument on who had played matchmaker for which couples – and Clarissa still can’t wholly follow how all of the couples are involved.

_What does this have to do with Reino?_

It’s only then that Jack texts her in their individual thread. _I’m telling you, and all the girls will tell you, he defends you like this because he’s attracted to you._

Oh, not this again. _He isn’t, Jack._

 _I’m just saying_ , Jack responds. _You pointed it out, all of their examples and relateable situations are couples._

_WE ARE NOT DATING_

_Which is the point._

Clarissa growls, can’t stop herself from doing so. _We’re friends. There’s no crush. And even if there was it wouldn’t matter._

It takes an inordinate amount of time for Jack to text back. _Look. Take it from me, it always matters. But I also get it._

_Get it?_

There’s another ridiculous length of time. Clarissa debates calling, but ultimately doesn’t. And definitely not out of a twisted emotion that makes her think having this conversation voice-to-voice is a bad idea.

_It’s a lot to take in for your first year_

It feels like Jack’s written it carefully, poured over exactly which words to use, and that’s not generally Jack’s style.

_Like, the NHL is definitely enough. Then we’re adding feelings?_

Clarissa almost laughs, well familiar, even this early, of Jack’s aversion to feelings. _There are no feelings to add._

 _Maybe not for you_ , Jack finally concedes and it turns something sour in Clarissa’s gut. Jack doesn’t mean it that way, of course. She’s not accusing. _There are for him._

It’s one of the few times Clarissa legitimately considers throwing her phone across the room. Instead, it vibrates again in her hand.

_Look, don’t worry about it, okay? We’re all big kids here._

They’re literally all teenagers. Okay, so she’s the only teenager, but that is not even close to the point. She hates that Jack is making a big deal out of this, that she swears up and down she sees something Clarissa knows isn’t there. She knows what it’s like to be a girl on the team and feel like maybe, just maybe… But it’s never been like that and she knows it. It’s team, because she’s seen Mitch look at Dvo like he hung the moon after a wicked goal or Pars after he’d made a wicked save and it’s not the same as the way he looks at Stromer.

She and Sam aren’t like that and it’s annoying that it’s constantly framed that way. She wants to be focused on hockey and nothing else.

* * *

 

A bad loss with the Sharks prompts a night out of drinking and sulking. She’s unhappy with her own performance because tonight she’d been plain ineffective. It was like she hadn’t been on the ice at all, with no points and a measly two shots on goal for the entire game. There isn’t even a minus to her name, which is probably a good thing but it doesn’t help with the general feeling of being useless and invisible.

Broodiness doesn’t suit her, but tonight her energy feels nonexistent. So she accepts the first drink Rasmus smuggles to her, then the second. Then a shot.

From then on, everything gets a little floaty. She stays mostly where she is, drifting from Alex to Jack and staying well out of Matt and Kyle’s way because she knows they’re going to fuss, bless them.

Alcohol always has a pretty predictable effect on her, and it isn’t long before the flush beneath her skin becomes unbearable and she just needs air. Better still, the beach.

“Hey, whoa.” Gentle hands come up to her elbows as she stumbles towards the door, before falling away. “Where are you going, Clarissa?” Ugh, now is not the time for Bogo to get all overprotective. She appreciates the sentiment, but she needs to _escape_.

“To the beach!” she declares, gesturing towards the door and narrowly avoiding punching Robin in the process. He just pats her head and continues towards the bar.

Sam makes an amused little noise from beside her. When did he get there? “Want some company?”

Clarissa feels a sudden, but not unexpected rush of affection. He really is the most wonderful man, kind and considerate and one hell of a hockey player. She should write a pimp post and put it on the tumblr account she absolutely does not have. “Of course!”

The fresh air outside is an instant energizer, and she immediately begins worming her way through the other partygoers. He barely manages to keep up with her, catching her at the gate that leads to the beach path. “Whoa, what’s the hurry?”

“I want to go...that way,” she says, pointing vaguely towards the ocean. She can hear the waves from where they’re standing, the subtle rush an irresistible invitation. “My face feels like it’s on...it’s on _fire_ and it will just feel so nice!”

Sam curses under his breath, probably at Rasmus for smuggling her drinks. He’s so delightfully protective that way, it makes her want to pinch his cheeks more than usual. “Well, let’s go then,” he starts, reaching for her arm.

Oh. Is she swaying? Maybe all those drinks weren’t the best idea, but both Jack and Sam promised to watch out for her and she really, really wanted to, so... “See, they’re so hot, I knew I should have taken Pepcid - oh!” She stares down at their entwined hands and brings them up to her cheek. “Your hand is so nice and cool!”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters, reaching up with his other hand to cup her face. “You really weren’t kidding.”

Clarissa pouts up at him, offended that he would even think that. “Why would I kid about that, I’m _Asian_ , we glow when we drink. Can we go to the beach now?”

Sam blinks down at her and she blinks back. For a moment she could swear that something shifts in his expression as he looks at her, so focused and intent that her hair is probably standing on end. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hastily lowering his hands. She stumbles forward at the loss of his touch and that look. It feels like a betrayal and her gut churns with those mixed feelings. And alcohol. Mostly alcohol, but feelings too.

Finally, he shakes his head and with a tiny sigh, takes her arm and tucks it through his. “Don’t worry, we’re going right now.”

“Yay!” Clarissa cheers. “I’m going to dip my toes in!”

“What-there you are!” Jack hurries out of the club, mouth pursed and eyes flashing. “Don’t you disappear on me like that again, Clarissa, the last thing I need is Stromer accusing me of losing my rookie and then telling Marns about it.”

She squeaks happily and pulls Jack into a hug. Jack, who is becoming used to her attack hugs, just grumbles under her breath. “You would never, I know! Now come with me and Sam to the beach!”

Jack’s silent for too long, and Clarissa can’t figure out why. She’s about to open her mouth, scold Jack or at least beg maybe, but Jack says, “Sam, you can handle this, right?”

Sam splutters a little bit, his hands flapping up and down that is just. _Adorable._ She stumbles back over to him, throwing one arm around his shoulders and poking his cheek with the other. “So cute!” she coos, possibly in Cantonese. Because that’s definitely a thing that happens when she’s drunk.

“Yeah, I think he’s got this. Enjoy, you two. Let me know if you decide to leave early.” Jack’s looking at them like they’re the funniest thing she’s ever seen and Clarissa’s a little offended. She’s not _that_ ridiculous right now!

The sea air is everything she wanted, cool against her face, crisp and briny in its scent. She immediately begins removing her shoes and rolling up her jeans, squealing a little bit at the squishiness of the sand between her toes.

“Whoa, I didn’t think you were actually serious about dipping your toes in-”

“I am _so_ serious, Samson,” she huffs, arms akimbo. “I’m not going far, don’t worry.”

It’s easy for her to get lost in her own world at times like this. She’s a social person and loves being around people - it gets her energy up like nothing else. Here, even though Sam is only a few feet away, she can splash around and hum away to her heart’s content like no one else is watching.

When she finally turns back to Sam, singing the final bars under her breath, she feels a bit more settled. Grounded. But still floaty. It’s the best kind of feeling.

Moonlight slants across him, giving his hair a silvery light and making those wonderful eyes of his a little darker, more mysterious. He looks so very princelike in that moment, dignified and handsome and somewhat distant.

Not acceptable, Clarissa thinks, and sticks out her hand with a wide grin. “Walk with me.”

Sam takes it without hesitation and her grin stretches even wider, warmth bubbling through her. He blinks rapidly a few times, like he’s dazed but she’s already tugging him forward, rambling about anything and everything that comes to mind.

“-look, _xiao long bao_ isn’t that hard to make once you have the technique down-”

“He calls the genre _silkpunk_ , how cool is that? I love the series but the female characters are kind of one-dimensional in their roles and he can do so much better than that, really.”

“-the dance moves are so intricate, let me show you-”

“For a long time, they honestly thought an apology bouquet would be sufficient and that is _such_ a cop-out. If you’re going to do an apology bouquet, you do it right and actually figure out the meaning of the flowers you put into it.” She scowls. “Not just fucking _roses._ ”

He chuckles, squeezing her hand lightly. “You have strong opinions about flowers.”

“Damn right I do.” She brightens. “My favorite flower is _amorphophallus titanum_ , because-” A couple walks by with the cutest dog she’s ever seen in her life, and everything grinds to a halt because she just has to stop and say hi. You have to do that with dogs, that’s the rule.

“So, what were you saying about a flower?”

“...I don’t remember?”

His amusement is almost a palpable thing, wrapping around her like the best kind of blanket. “Okay Ms. Drunk, maybe it’s time to start walking back to the hotel, huh?”

He phrases it as a question, and gives her time to take stock and make the decision. She doesn’t feel as unsettled now, less like she’s going to shake apart or wallow. A blanket burrito and a good night’s rest are sounding better and better. “Let’s go.”

 

“Variations on my last name and poop are just stupid,” she remarks to Sam the next morning, picking delicately at her omelette. They leave to play the Kings soon, but Sam had come wandering into the hotel’s breakfast area with a “Morning, Clary,” and beach walk or not, she had seriously considered drastic action. There’s very specific nomenclature around nicknames in the NHL, that much is well documented. Unfortunately for Clarissa, her name defies all convention and, nomenclature or no nomenclature, ‘Clary’ is number one on the list of _oh hell no_. It has nothing to do with the character - the books are more Vic’s thing than hers - it just does not suit her.

To his credit, Sam’s nose had wrinkled. “That really doesn’t work.”

“Then why even try?”

“Seemed worth it at the time,” Sam had responded, and she thinks there must have been something on her face at the time, because in the present he’s stealing a piece of pepper from her plate and asking curiously, “Names are important to you, aren’t they?”

She blinks. “Well, yeah. Names are a pretty big deal in Chinese culture.”

He hums and chews and Clarissa does everything she can to project how much she is _not_ willing to go into the complex - and quite frankly very private - details of Chinese naming conventions.

Which, she almost feels compelled to make clear, does not necessarily include hockey nicknames. She recognizes it’s a little more nebulous when it comes to hockey, existing in some strange greyscape where there can be meaning in the nickname, ascribed to it by those with a collective mental age of five and not all name meanings and conventions can be created equal.

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, hesitant. “Then isn’t it important to settle on something that reflects it?”

There is no way on this earth she is prepared for this discussion at 9am. None. “I guess you can run stuff by me?” she finally says, and is probably too relieved when Jack finally stumbles down, looking for all the world like she doesn’t know what planet she’s on, let alone city. She’s definitely in need of coffee, and Clarissa won’t say no to a refill, herself.

She misses the determination that settles over his face. “I definitely will.”

“What’s that all about?” Jack asks at the coffee station. “Sammy has his determined face on. Were you damseling or something last night?”

“Is that even a word? And no, I can fight my own battles, thanks.” She leans against the counter, coffee mug in hand, as Ryan pops into the seat beside Sam. “He’s just on a mission to find me a nickname. Or something.”

Jack snickers under her breath, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, is he now? It really does sound like he’s got a crush.”

“That again, Eichs? He’s just...being nice. And determined.”

“Suit yourself.”

Clarissa rolls her eyes. “Oh my god. You clearly need coffee. And food.”

* * *

 

Dani’s waiting for them after the Canucks game, as promised. She and Jack greet each other easily and she has to take a moment to be envious. How can someone make a simple black pantsuit and silk blouse look so good? It has to be those mysterious Sedin powers.

In any case, it gives her something to focus on other than her nerves and honestly, it’s a little annoying that she’s even nervous in the first place. Swedish dinner at Dani and Marinette’s house is the women’s tradition. She should be honored, _excited_ -

Her stomach growls. Well, at least she’s hungry.

Dani glances over at the sound and laughs, approaching with her hands out, palms up. Clarissa has a brief moment of panic ( _are her palms sweaty?_ ) before taking them, being drawn into a hug. To make the injustice worse, Dani doesn’t even smell like lingering sweat or locker room soap. She just smells comforting. And expensive. “Looks like we’d better get some food in you, hm?” Her expression is so warm and understanding as she gently clasps her shoulders. Clarissa has a sinking sensation that Dani knows _exactly_ how skittish she’s feeling. “Come on, Marinette is dying to meet you.”

“I’m dying to eat Marinette’s food,” Jack snarks in the background, grinning.

“Yes yes, we know you’re only here for the food.”

“Lies.” A pause. “I’m here to play with the kids too.”

Dani grins. “They’re looking forward to it.”

Marinette has an actual smorgasbord waiting for them, the table practically groaning beneath three different types of pickled herring, cured salmon, meatballs, mini sausages, and so much more. “Come in, come in, eat!” Marinette says, hugging Clarissa while she’s trying to pick her jaw off the floor at the sight. “The kids have already had their pick, but there’s plenty more, you have to be starving.”

It’s late, but the kids are definitely not tired. Ronja and Anna are clinging to Jack like spider monkeys, though Ronja’s trying to have some dignity about it. Clarissa gets that, being ten years old and desperately in awe of someone like Jack. Erik waves from the table, where he’s apparently decided that he needs more food. It’s a good idea, and she grabs a plate before Dani or Marinette scold her.

After dinner, Jack helps Marinette with bedtime, and Clarissa and Dani make their way outside. It’s just this side of too cold, but Dani lights up the fire pit and it’s perfect. She warms her hands as they talk about everything and nothing: Dani’s horses, Clarissa’s family, how ridiculous Jack and Connor are.

“And what about you?” Dani finally asks. “How is your first season?” She glances across the fire. “You can tell me as much or as little as you like. Or you don’t have to say anything at all. I just like to know, and I’m sure Jack has told you how this goes.” Her smile is as comforting as the fire, and Clarissa really believes that she can choose to say nothing and Dani won’t push.

Still, her laugh comes out stilted as the wind picks up, and wants to wince at how weak it sounds. “I just...I guess I’m still trying to figure out my place here, you know?” She knows she’s not the same kind of center that Jack is, and there’s still some small fear that niggles at her sometimes. That if she doesn’t perform like Jack, then she’s in danger of being sent away.

She doesn’t want to lose what she has right now, but there are times when she has no idea how to _keep_ it.

Dani hums. “I do know, actually.” She just laughs when Clarissa squints at her doubtfully, so unbelievably comfortable in her own skin. “I know, that sounds strange coming from me, when I’ve said so often that my place is beside Henke. That part was never in question, but adjusting to this league as one of the first women?” She shrugs. “All of us struggle with that question at some point, and in different ways.”

The admission eases some of the tension but she can’t help but think that every woman who’s currently playing in the league is extraordinary, in one way or another. Sometimes she feels lucky if she manages to feel great at all. “I guess.”

“Oh, _alskling._ ” Once more, she finds herself swept up in a Danielle Sedin Hug™. She can’t help but sink into the embrace, and wonders if this is what it’s like to have an older sister. “You will find your place amongst your team, I promise you. And until then, know that you already occupy your own space here, with us. _You’re one of us_ ,” she whispers, so fiercely that tears prick the corners of Clarissa’s eyes.

It’s reassuring in a way she didn’t know she needed, but her doubts still weigh on her as she and Jack catch an Uber back to the hotel. Jack doesn’t ask about her conversation with Dani, just rambles on happily about the kids and Marinette’s food. It must be private, the things said in those conversations, but Clarissa can’t help but wonder what they talked about, what advice Dani gave Jack.

It hums in the back of her brain all evening though. So much so that when she and Jack climb into the Uber to head back to the hotel, Clarissa pulls out her phone.

_Dani and I talked and it was great_

Dylan started typing. _I’m sensing a “but” here_

_{peach emoji}_

She snorts. _No {peach emoji}s here, she’s like hockey yoda. I just…_

 _?_ That's Mike.

_I feel like it’s easy for her to say the things she said. Which doesn’t make sense because I know she had a hard time too_

_But it was hard in a different way_. Mike again.

_Yeah_

_Bud. We get it._ And those words from Dylan feel like a hug.

It does, admittedly, still sit kind of weird. Clarissa knows Mike and Dylan have both fought, and continue to fight, to find their place in the NHL. She taps her phone on her thigh. It’s different. She’s sure it’s different. There aren’t many women who have had to adjust to the league with another woman on their team. Clarissa half wants to text Tyler, though even Tyler had adjusted to the league before she’d been traded to Dallas. Maybe Brenda.

“You think so loud.”

Clarissa spends half a moment considering keeping her mouth shut before she blurts, “How did you adjust?”

Jack blinks at her for a moment. “To… Dani?”

“To the NHL,” Clarissa says, after a breath. “Maybe the women too, but the NHL.”

“Oh.” It pulls Jack up short. “Uh.” Nothing comes after a moment and when Clarissa looks over, there’s confusion on Jack’s face. “I… I don’t have a clear memory of adjusting?”

“You had an adjustment period.”

“Oh shut up, I’m trying. My first season was the year of Connor McDavid, it’s a bit blurry.”

It’s not that it takes her off guard, per se, but Clarissa, who has met both McDavid and obviously Jack, can’t say it isn’t a weird reality check to be reminded of the shadow McDavid casts. After playing with Jack, it feels like she’s always been larger than life. Certainly larger than Connor McDavid.

“I don’t…” Jack makes a face. “The hockey wasn’t hard. It was different, more exhausting, but it was hockey and I’m in the NHL, you know?”

That much Clarissa definitely understands. It still feels surreal to suit up in Sabres colours; to see the NHL crest and hear the screaming fans and know she’s made it.

“The emotional adjustment was a lot,” Jack finally says, like she knows what this means to Clarissa and is taking it seriously. “It was different for me. The team had guys that had played with women before, but I was still the first, you know? That had its difficulties. Then McDavid, of course. Segs and I bonded because the media is fucking ridiculous when you’re a woman that goes second to a dude and yeah, okay, maybe she was right and I fed the narrative more than a little, but.” She shrugs. “In terms of advice I can offer, it’s honestly always different.”

Clarissa huffs, more an impulse than genuine frustration.

“I get that it’s not what you want to hear,” Jack goes on, “but no one lies to your face.”

“No no,” Clarissa interrupts. “We’re different people. It makes sense.”

Jack eyeballs her for a moment before she says, “When it comes to hockey, you have to put in the work. That’s how you adjust to the NHL. The rest…” There’s a pause and Clarissa genuinely wonders if that’s where Jack’s going to leave it until she finishes with, “Use your supports. Me, the Moulsons - Alicia, my god Alicia - Marns even. And there’s always the group chat.”

Clarissa chokes on laughter a little. The idea of sending her rookie worries to Sidney Crosby feels insane. But Jack narrows her eyes.

“Listen, you asked-”

Going with impulse, Clarissa wraps her arms around Jack in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

Jack shifts, a little uncomfortable. “Sure. Just remember if Carey answers after 10pm, she’s worrying. There’s a protocol for that. If Segs gets self-deprecating we have to call in Nuge-”

It’s not a perfect solution and Clarissa still feels off-kilter, like maybe it’s all too good to be true and she doesn’t belong. But one thing’s for certain: it’s the NHL and there isn’t much Clarissa isn’t willing to do to stay right where she is.

* * *

 

Losing is not new to Clarissa, and neither is homesickness. Billets and moving away from home, plus the early days of the Knights, it breeds routine, practice, habits that help provide the comfort in either situation. It’s worse when it’s combined, of course, but it’s nothing Clarissa hasn’t dealt with before.

The change comes in the new faces she’s surrounded with, the way that the Sabres are different from the Knights in one massive way: there is no Mitch Marner.

Mitch had a way of knowing when Clarissa was starting to feel off, when her game wasn’t where it needed to be, when she missed home. He was famous for starting the piles of hockey players in hotel rooms, building that closeness because they were all in similar boats. But Mitch doesn’t play for the Sabres and it isn’t like she can drive two hours just for a hug.

It’s one of those nights, the Sabres climbing dejectedly on the bus when Clarissa reaches out. Calling isn’t the same, but Mitch always knows how to cheer people up and as welcoming as the Sabres have been, she doesn’t quite feel the connection she needs just yet. She finds a quiet corner, Mitch’s message thread and hits call.

“If it isn’t the newest NHL rookie star.”

She makes a sound, not totally sure what, but she knows it shifts Mitch’s mood immediately. “Hey, Lissy.”

“Sorry,” she says, and sucks in a breath. “We keep _losing_.”

“Yeah, I know,” he responds, and it’s so, so sympathetic.

“And you’re not here.”

He makes another wounded noise. “I miss you too.”

“We’d be in a pile by now,” she says miserably, because she feels homesick and tired and it’s so early in the season. “And Matt would probably make some dumb joke and Dvo would hit him and then half of the team would be on the floor-”

“Hey, hey. Slow down, buddy. Take a breath here.”

She does, and she hears murmuring in the meantime, then shuffling like he’s moving away from someone else. “Yeah, thanks,” she hears just before he’s back saying, “You’re okay, Lissy.”

“It doesn’t feel okay.”

“I know it doesn’t. It’s a lot of change.”

Clarissa closes her eyes, knocks her head a few times, very gently, against the wall. “Talk to me?”

Mitch does, though there are a few moments where he sounds distracted, like he’s handling six or seven thousand things at the same time. It doesn’t mean much, since that’s such a Mitch thing, and his chatter in her ear does hep settle her down. At least until Jack comes to find her, phone in hand, looking determined. Clarissa’s maybe less surprised than she expected when she full out grabs the phone from Clarissa’s hand.

“Marns. I’ve got her.” A pause. “Yeah.” She glances back at Clarissa. “Thank Matts for sending out the SOS. I’ve got an idea.” She’s already reaching out for Clarissa’s hand, tugging her along. “Call her in the morning, Marns.” She stops to meet Clarissa’s eyes. “She’s one of us now.”

Jack doesn’t return her phone after she hangs up, tucking it away in her own pocket. In fact, Jack doesn’t say much of anything either, just tugs her along the halls to the bus.

“You going to give it back?”

Jack shrugs. “Before bed.” Her eyes are sharp when she finally looks Clarissa’s way. “You know we’ve got you, right?”

“It’s not about that-”

“It kind of is,” Jack interrupts, and she doesn’t sound disappointed but Clarissa feels oddly guilty anyway. “I get it, but it kind of is.” Jack ushers Clarissa onto the bus ahead of her, maneuvers her down the aisle until she finds Sam. “Special delivery.”

Sam seems entirely unsurprised to see her, and puts his own phone away immediately. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Clarissa answers, a little breathlessly as she’s shoved into the empty seat. She glares up at Jack. “Ouch.”

“You’ll live.” She glances around the bus, then looks to Sam. “Got her?”

“We’re good, Jack,” Sam replies. “I think Bogo’s going to call his kids.”

Jack nods once and heads down the aisle. Clarissa tries to settle, shifts around a little until Sam chuckles quietly. He reaches out, turns his hand palm up just above her knee. “Here.”

It isn’t the first Sabres hand Clarissa has held. When she watches dramas on the road and they get out of hand, she routinely reaches for whoever’s hand is closest until the ridiculousness passes. This feels intentional. This feels loaded. Still, she slides her hand into his and lets out a heavy breath. Sam wraps his fingers tightly around hers, shakes them a little.

“We’ve got you.”

Clarissa lets her breath shudder out again, then shifts her hand to slide her fingers between his. She doesn’t do that with Risto or Jake, but she does feel a little more settled with his thick fingers contrasted against the back of her hand. She nods her head and squeezes his hand, “Okay.”

 

While she’s not so used to losing, Clarissa finds the Sabres locker room isn’t that much different from the Knights’. It’s the same sweaty gear, the same dumb chirping, and all in all, a shocking amount of blase attitudes to the whole female thing.

“I’ve desensitized them,” Jack snorts with a roll of her eyes. Clarissa believes that, to an extent. Jack isn’t the type of woman who lets anyone walk over her, and certainly not anyone in a locker room. Clarissa admires it.

The point is, no one blinks when she strolls into the equipment room with two thermoses in hand and announces herself with, “Hey Keith.”

“Good morning, Clarissa, what can I do for you?”

“Remember that request I made at the beginning of the season, when you guys asked if we had any specific requirements?”

He squints, thinking it over. “Yeah. You wanted lukewarm Gatorade and water when it’s that time of the month.” He doesn’t stammer through it or turn red. Clarissa gives him an approving nod and a blinding grin. “You want that to start now?”

“Until further notice, thanks!”

Jack is scowling at the floor when she gets into the locker room. Clarissa has to bite back the giggle at how everyone seems to be giving her a wide berth, even Sam, like she’s some Bruce Banner-esque ticking time bomb.

On its own, not uncommon, but Clarissa had witnessed Jack snap at Bogo yesterday over stick tape. _Stick tape._ Looks like she was right on the money about syncing up. “Here,” she says, marching over.

Jack blinks at the large, heavy-duty thermos. “What’s that?”

“Hot tea. Mama’s orders. If I have to, you definitely have to.”

“Why don’t we get anything?” someone calls from the other side of the room.

“Are you menstruating?” Clarissa tosses back, and the room goes deathly silent. “No? Then no.”

Jack snorts. “Thanks. But why tea?”

“It’s a Chinese thing. You get hot when you’re on your period, and cold things can send your body into shock.” She smiles ruefully. “Mom and all my female relatives were horrified when I hit puberty and was still playing hockey. These-” she gestures to the thermoses. “-are a compromise.”

“And I’m getting roped into it because?”

“Because Mom’s going to nag me about it. You don’t want her worrying about you, right?” Her mom’s the best at the silent guilt trip - little sighs and eye rolls that act like death from a thousand cuts. It’s always better to just go with it.

Jack heaves a sigh of her own, running a hand through her hair. Clarissa’s _so_ envious, thinking of her own, pin-straight hair. “You just had to play the Mom Card, didn’t you?” She pours a small bit into the cap, her expression brightening at the aroma. “Hey, this is really nice.”

Of course it’s nice, she takes her tea seriously, thanks. “That’s _Da Hong Pao_ , sip it slowly.” Attending to her period meant that she’d been up early. Preparing the tea in a proper yixing teapot was a soothing ritual she didn’t get to do all that often, and offered a spot of calm in a seething mass of, well, bleeding from the inside out. It’s just too bad that the presentation’s lost when she has to put the tea in the damn thermoses.

Which is why it’s so gratifying when she pulls out her full set one afternoon and there’s an immediate tug on her shorts. “What are you doing, Lissy?” Mila’s looking at the set with avid eyes.

“I’m going to have some tea. Want to join me?”

Mila claps her hands together delightedly. “Like a tea party?”

“Like a Chinese tea party.”

It’s not exactly traditional, but Clarissa still feels a rush of warmth as she and Mila settle down at the kitchen island, the slotted tea tray between them. “What’s the tiger for?” Mila queries, her little fingers reaching for the figurine, fashioned from the same unglazed clay as the rest of the set.

“That’s a tea pet, they’re good luck. You offer them a little bit of tea too, as you’re making it.” She shows Mila how to warm up the teaware first, putting hot water in the teapot, the cups, and over the tiger, explaining how important it is that everything is warm before they make the tea itself.

“Why a tiger?”

“I was born in the year of the tiger,” she explains. “I thought it made sense.” Which leads to a brief explanation of the Chinese zodiac, and them looking up Mila’s year. She makes a mental note to get Mila her own tea set, complete with tea pet. She’ll probably get a kick out of it, even if it probably won’t get that much use early on.

They go through the first steeping, where Clarissa helps Mila pour the last of the steeped tea over the clay tiger. She loves the idea of sharing with the tea pet, and it reminds Clarissa of her own joy over the act when she was that age, begging her mom to let her offer more tea because it was only polite. And tea, like other things, is best when it’s shared.

“It’s okay if you don’t like the taste,” Clarissa reminds Mila as they raise their cups to their mouths. “It took me a long time to like it, too.” The difference here is that Clarissa’s mom always has it on hand, and probably drinks a gallon a day. She grew to like it pretty quickly. “All I ask is that you try a sip of each at every stage. If you don’t like it, you can give the rest to the tea pet.”

Mila’s lower lip juts out in determination. “If you like it then I’m going to like it too, Lissy.” She blows across the surface of the tea, and takes a small sip.

Like cheese, it’s important to start off light when it comes to introducing someone to tea. Clarissa would never start with _Da Hong Pao_ , dark and mineral-y, vegetal with a tinge of honey. No, this is _Jin Xuan,_ light and almost milky, with a bit of floral sweetness. It’s what her mom started her off with, and so it’s what she’s using here.

Mila’s brow furrows as she takes a tiny sip of the pale yellow tea. Her expression twists a little, and Clarissa has to bite back a laugh. “No?”

“It tastes like weird hot water.”

She has to put her own teacup down, hiding a smile behind her hand. “I mean, you’re not wrong. Do you want to give some to the tea pet?”

“But you like it, right?”

“Sure.”

Biting her lip, Mila considers the tea set in front of them. “You should drink it. And maybe give a little bit to the tea pet?”

“We can do that.”

“Jack should come next time,” Mila says decisively. “Maybe she’ll like the tea.”

Clarissa laughs, thinking of all the tea she’s already pressed on Jack. “You know what, I think she will.”

* * *

 

Clarissa meets her soulmate in Montreal.

It’s not like she had no idea Brenda existed - they’re in the same group chat, after all. It’s just different to watch her play and then see that same bouncing energy in another human being. It reminds her of Mitch, the same constant sunshine, and yet _not_ because Mitch’s playing style is too skilled to be a shit, unless your name is Dylan Strome.

Brenda’s playing style, on the other hand, is all about being a shit. Clarissa discovers this when she’s crushed against the boards _again,_ legal enough that it’s not worth making a fuss about, but it’s so. Damn. Frustrating. And fine, fine, she knew that coming in. It’s one of those universal truths about NHL hockey. Sid’s going to make a fool of you on the ice, you’d probably have better luck scoring on a brick wall than Carey, and Brenda’s just a shit.

Still, it’s one thing to know, yet another thing to witness it in person. She mutters something in Cantonese that, if her mom heard it she’d be scrubbing the floors with a toothbrush for a week. Luckily, she’s not mic’d up and she can be as uncomplimentary as she pleases, pushing off the boards and joining the fray once more.

It’s a chippy game. It should be, Clarissa figures, because it’s a rivalry as much as Toronto-Buffalo. In the end, they squeak out the win and it bolsters Clarissa’s mood from the irritation on the ice.

“Pu! Guests for you. Try not to get cooties,” Bogo calls when she’s showered and changed back into her gameday dress.

Clarissa immediately looks to Jack, who’s already smirking. “Ready to meet Bren in person?”

Except it’s not just Brenda standing outside the locker room, amicably bickering with Galchenyuk about who’s paying for dinner. Carey’s there too, sedately scrolling through her phone. It’s Carey that looks up and offers a small smile.

“Welcome to Montreal.”

“I’ve been before,” Clarissa returns, trying to swallow down the weird goalie steadiness Carey’s putting off. It’s Carey Price, okay? Clarissa’s allowed to have a moment.

Carey’s smile turns just a little sharp. “Not as part of the Show.” Then she glances over Clarissa’s shoulder. “I thought you promised to stop shooting high blocker.”

Jack snorts, tosses an arm over Clarissa’s shoulder. “All’s fair in love and playoffs.”

“Love and draft order, maybe,” Carey replies, and though the words are delivered without much inflection, Clarissa can feel the disappointment underneath.

“Pardon you. You don’t get to shit on my team, only I get to shit on my team,” Jack responds.

“Everyone shits on your team,” Brenda finally joins the conversation. “Clarissa Pu, it is a pleasure.”

“To meet you maybe. Not so much playing against you.”

Brenda tosses her head back and laughs, loud and pleased. Jack nudges Clarissa, nods a little to Galchenyuk and yeah, those hearteyes need to go away.

“Mission accomplished then,” Brenda replies, linking her arm with Galchenyuk. “Now. Food. Alex is buying.”

Galchenyuk sputters, but doesn’t really put up an argument as they file out of the arena, his hand still wrapped in Brenda’s.

Brenda is the type of person Clarissa loves. Bright and shiny around the edges and genuinely generally happy, despite the shithole the team is in. Then the video comes up, the dance the Knights did, and Brenda’s gaze fixes on Clarissa.

“Explain this to me. Because this seems right up my alley.”

“You can’t dance for shit,” Galchenyuk responds without raising his head from his food. “You’re only coordinated on the ice.”

“That’s going to suck for you during our first dance,” Brenda retorts. Jack full on chokes.

“What?!”

“When we get there, my god, Eichs. Do you see anything bright and shiny on this finger?” Brenda goes as far as to wiggle it in front of Jack’s face.

“That is not a key indicator,” comes Jack’s irritated response. “Nuge didn’t have a ring.” She waves at Carey. “Pricey’s going to propose without a ring.”

“PK would never let me.”

Jack tilts her head. “Fair.”

“That’s more your style,” Clarissa muses innocently. “You’d probably just tell McDavid the date.”

Jack snorts. “I’m fairly certain I am now friendship bound to let Marner plan the majority of my wedding. He was responsible for a large chunk of Nuge’s.”

“There goes any ideas for a quiet wedding.”

Carey’s eyes are sharp, even as one elegant eyebrow climbs her forehead. “Eichel and McDavid and you were thinking small and quiet?”

“Excuse you, I would be perfectly fine to throw the party of the century.”

“That’ll be Segs,” Brenda pipes up. “Do we have a date for that?”

The conversation doesn’t stop. It’s a great way to finish the night in Clarissa’s opinion and she feels all the better when she leaves the dinner with a promise to teach Brenda to dance and an invite to Carey’s annual summer shindig at the ranch.

(“I’m never going to get away from horses, am I?” Jack’s expression is sour.)

“Screw Galchenyuk, I think I’m going to marry Brenda,” Clarissa exclaims on their way back to the team’s hotel. “We are soulmates.”

“Reino will be upset.”

“Are you still on that? Jack-”

“You’re so right, how did you know?! Well, Clarissa, I’ve been watching hockey players fall in love with my friends for three years now-”

“A trend you started, if the stories are true.”

Jack glares. Clarissa feels vindicated. Right up until they get back to the hotel and Sam’s hanging out in the lobby, looking to all the world like he’s just flipping through his phone. He beams when he looks up at them and Clarissa’s stomach does some weird quasi-gymnastics that is thrilling and uncomfortable in equal measure.

“How was dinner?” he asks and falls into step with her. Jack snorts on her other side and Clarissa has no problem jamming her elbow into Jack’s ribs.

“Ouch!”

“Good,” Clarissa says, talking over Jack. “I love Gally.”

Sam’s nose wrinkles. “She’s the worst.”

“Only on the ice,” Clarissa argues and links her arm with Sam’s subconsciously. Sam’s smiling at her, this quiet little thing she’s getting used to and Clarissa lets the contentment sink into her bones, chattering away about weddings and the women and very deliberately ignoring the knowing way Jack is watching them. “I mean, her netfront presence is definitely a pain in the ass, but I watched her actually chirp Carey Price and like, listen. Off the ice? The woman is still intimidating, Price, I mean…”

* * *

 

“Oh no, not second drama lead syndrome _again_ ,” Clarissa cries, covering her face with her hands. “I really, really like Kang Woo and I hope he’s not a bad guy.”

“Second drama lead syndrome?” Jake echoes, confused.

She can see Rasmus nodding sagely out of the corner of her eye. “When you like the second lead guy better for the heroine than the lead guy.”

Honestly, she never thought she’d hear such an explanation from one of her teammates. It’s easy to get them into K-pop; getting them into Korean or Chinese dramas is another matter entirely. Jack can’t handle the sheer drama of the plotlines, which is not exactly something Clarissa blames her for since they can get pretty crazy. Still, she’ll concede to the better episodes of _Running Man_ when they’re in need of a pick-me-up, or if they’re just chilling out. Alex just flat-out refuses, stating that he hates watching things with subtitles (“If I wanted to read something I’d read a book!”).

At the beginning of the season Clarissa had taken to watching dramas alone, stockpiling every episode of _While You Were Sleeping_ for long flights of their West Coast roadies. Rasmus, as her preferred seat partner - he doesn’t snore, doesn’t move around a lot, and is tall enough for her to use as a pillow - just got sucked in and is now the best drama buddy outside of her mom. Like her mom, he dissects drama plots with as much vigor as they do game tape.

Jake also got suckered into drama watching, mostly because he was all caught up on _Shadowhunters._ He’s not as into it as Rasmus though, and is more likely to watch a drama with supernatural elements. Which is why he’s watching _The Master’s Sun_ with them now. Clarissa has a love/hate relationship with Hong Sister dramas, which is why it’s taken her so long to get around to this one after the disaster that was _Big._

Sam chuckles, more of a feeling than an actual sound, the way she’s slumped against him. He’d wandered into the viewing more by accident than anything, but she’s not going to pass up converting another one of her teammates.

“I’m serious,” she insists. “But...I really like Joong Won too. Polyamory for the win?”

“Why ship one when you can ship them all,” Jake states, completely deadpan. He must be deeper into the Shadowhunters fandom than anyone realized. Sam starts wheezing, and Rasmus sends them both a scandalized look. Clarissa just shrugs. If it works for Ryan, why can’t it work elsewhere?

“I’m confused,” Sam says. “What are Kang Woo’s motives? He’s really nice and cute to her, but sometimes? He’s a little shady.”

She snickers. “My favorite kind of human, let’s be honest. We know he’s reporting to Joong Won’s dad. To what purpose, who knows.” Happiness bubbles up inside her. She _loves_ taking dramas apart.

Rasmus makes a thoughtful noise. “They might paint him as a bad guy, and then maybe he’ll have an agenda that is actually helpful.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. Since we know Joong Won was kidnapped and the ransom disappeared, so maybe Kang Woo is tracking the kidnappers down.” Her eyelids start getting heavy despite herself, and she yawns.

Now it’s Jake’s turn to snicker. “You guys are something else. Just wait,” he tells Sam with relish. “They’re going to be unbearable when the skinship really gets going.”

“What’s skinship?”

She’s drifting now, but she thinks Rasmus drawls something along the lines of, “You and Lissy in the locker room.” Jake muffles a laugh.

“Everyone on this team does skinship,” she grumbles. “Don’t point fingers.”

“Yeah, but you take it to-” Rasmus grunts, then swears in Finnish, glaring at Jake.

“ _No way,”_ Clarissa shrieks at the screen, sitting ramrod straight. Sam flails a little bit beside her, and Jake almost falls off the other bed and has to be hauled up by Rasmus. “He actually showed up!”

Sam flinches as she slaps at his shoulder. “What-”

“ _Shhhhhhh._ ” Onscreen, Joong Won pulls Gong Shil out of the restaurant, saving her from the disdain of her high school buddies.

The indignation when the episode ends with a confession but not a kiss are deafening.

“Oh come on!” Jake yells.

Rasmus agrees, with a loud, “Is that even allowed?”

“Amateurs,” Clarissa huffs, happily hugging a pillow to her chest. “Of course there wasn’t a kiss just yet. The skinship builds the tension until that first kiss. It has to _mean_ something _.”_

Rasmus gives her a significant look. “Does that put us on episode seven of you guys now?”

“You’re just jealous,” Clarissa says primly, settling back against Sam again. “Sam is an excellent cuddler.”

“You’d know better than the rest of us,” Jake agrees solemnly, but Clarissa can see the way the traitorous edges of his mouth twitch.

“Can we just watch the next episode?” Sam asks plaintively. “That’d be _great_.”

Jake takes pity on him, but there’s still a hint of laughter in his voice as he reaches for the remote. “Sure. Maybe we’ll get our kiss.”

Clarissa throws her pillow at him.

* * *

 The delightful part about being on a team with Jack is that Clarissa barely has to persuade her to go shopping. “I want a dress in Sabres blue,” she muses.

Jack snorts. “Sure, if you want to be a walking advertisement.”

“I want them to know they’ve got me.” She has her ELC and while it’s nothing as ironclad as Jack’s contract, she has a good feeling about her standing with the team. Still, it’s good for them to have the reminder that she’s all in.

Not that they’re the ones who really need the reminder. Clarissa’s pretty self-aware, and knows that for all the work and devotion she puts into this, there are times when all of her doubts come rushing through and she questions her dreams. Sometimes she forgets that great things can grow from the most humble of beginnings.

When she glances over, Jack’s looking at her thoughtfully and she has to wonder what she sees. Her mom always told her that she wore her emotions on her sleeve. It can go both ways, she knows, but Clarissa’s always considered it a strength. “Then we’ll find a Sabres dress.”

It’s early enough that the mall is almost empty. Clarissa prefers the hustle and bustle of people, but she’s aware enough to understand that Jack wants the privacy - or at least the illusion of it.

“You know,” Jack says when they pause for food, seated in a hidden away corner, devouring meals they pinky swore not to mention to the Sabres staff. “It’s different with girls. I forgot?”

“Hm?” Clarissa hums, because she has fries and ketchup and she’s a little in heaven.

Jack chuckles, eyes fond. “I shop when I see Segs, and that’s about it. It’s like, twice a year. If we can make it work.”

“You have girlfriends though,” Clarissa replies, head cocked just a little. “Auston loves shopping too.”

“Matts and I didn’t play much together, just NTDP stuff. As for girlfriends, besides Jessie…” Jack shrugs. “Scheduling is hard. They’re in Boston for the most part, and those that are here, like the Beauts? It can be hard with NHL, NWHL, life…”

“I get that.”

Jack’s eyes are sharp as she searches Clarissa’s face. Then, after a long beat, she finally says, “I’m glad there’s two of us. Gally used to say it was different. Don’t think it really hit me until you got here.”

Clarissa actually blinks at Jack for a moment. “Thanks?” she tries, tentative. Then Jack’s nose wrinkles and Clarissa bursts into laughter. Jack tosses a napkin at her.

“Shut up.”

“No no, this is good. This is healthy. Tell me more about your feelings.”

“Shut. Up.”

Clarissa can’t stop her giggles, but she also gets it, she really does. The guys are great, she genuinely loves them. But the last few months of having Jack there, someone who gets a few more of her intricacies, has been a different experience. Most days, she thanks the hockey gods that Jack had been on the Sabres before her drafting.

“You’re the worst.” Jack grins. “Hurry up. You’re the one who wants a dress and I don’t want to get caught in the food court for an hour signing autographs.”

“Is it really that hard?” she wonders as they throw away their trash. “The fame, and all that.”

Jack makes a face. “Okay, first off, I’m not famous - I’m serious!” she insists at Clarissa’s disbelieving snicker. “Buffalo and the hockey world are one thing, you know? And the fans aren’t bad at all, especially when they’re kids.” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I could do without the constant scrutiny and comparisons, though.”

She can only imagine. There’s a certain relief in being drafted in the second round. The pressure isn’t nearly as pronounced. “Yeah.”

“But I knew what I was getting into. All for the dream, right?” Jack winks. “Now come on, less talking and more shopping.”

Clarissa will admit, Jack definitely knows how to shop. It’s nice to have another woman as ruthlessly efficient, who, after three stores, seems to have climbed on Clarissa’s wavelength on the dress she’s looking for. It still takes them a while to find The Dress. Clarissa tries on so many styles, so many shades of blue, but none of them feel just right. Even the team agrees, and the women agree - at least via Snapchat.

And then they find it.

The dress floats around her hips, flirty in its high hem in front, spreading out long behind her to drag just a little on the floor. The neckline plunges, and it would be scandalous if it weren’t for the illusion organza neckline. There’s a feminine bow around her waist and the moment she turns to see herself in the mirror, Clarissa _knows_.

Jack’s got her phone up when Clarissa opens the dressing room door, but her eyebrows climb her forehead. She doesn’t say anything until she’s dropped the phone back to her lap. “So?”

It’s the first dress Jack hasn’t immediately offered an opinion on. Clarissa hums, twirls, feels her chest flutter at the swirl of her skirt. “I love it.”

“It shows,” Jack replies. She ducks down to her phone, types out a reply and says, “It’s getting rave reviews from the Brigade.”

Clarissa grins, pleased, does her fourth spin because she just can’t help herself and she adores the way the skirt swirls around her legs.

Jack eyes the dress critically as the skirt settles. “It’s not a game day dress.”

Clarissa hums, then sways this way and that, aware Jack’s got her camera up. “Charity gala?”

Jack chuckles, even as her eyes stay fixed on her phone. A smirk slowly stretches across her lips as she watches what Clarissa assumes is the replies. “The boys like it too. Reino’s speechless.”

Her heart flips over weirdly in her chest. It makes her frown a little. “So?”

“Are you serious?” Jack asks, raising her head slowly. “You’re still in denial about this?”

“It’s not denial if the situation itself isn’t real.” It’s not that she hasn’t given it some thought, because she has. Sam’s cute, Sam’s sweet, and Sam plays really, really beautiful hockey. She just really doesn’t see what Jack’s seeing. And maybe it’s there, maybe it’s not, but Clarissa’s not going to think about it unless something actually happens. Romance is one of the few areas where she doesn’t twist herself into a mental pretzel, agonizing about “what-ifs.”

“Idiot.” At least, that’s what she thinks she hears. Hard to tell from behind that mountain of curls.

“Maybe so,” is the cheerful reply. “But try not to meddle, okay? If it is real, like you insist, then it’ll happen sooner or later.” She does one more twirl. “But right now, I want to buy this dress.”

Jack stands up, stretching. “I don’t meddle. My policy is hands-off unless broken hearts are involved, so you’d better hope we don’t get to that point.”

She shrugs because that’s reasonable. You have to stand up for your friends. “You’re probably over the whole meddling thing because of your ambush at the World Cup, huh?” she asks, heading back to the dressing room.

“What - how do you know about that?”

“Dylan. I’m in a group chat with her and Latts.”

“That’s...a weird combination.”

She pokes her head back out the door. “It really isn’t? We’re kind of the struggle club.” Dylan had been the one to make the chat, last season after she and Clarissa were both sent down and when Mike’s situation was up in the air.

There’s a long silence at that. “I’m torn. Because half of me is glad that you guys are supporting each other and the other half is irritated that you think of yourselves that way.”

“We can’t all be like you and Sid and Auston,” Clarissa points out. She doesn’t mind being blunt here because she knows Jack can take it. “Some of us have a little trouble finding our place and you’re right, it’s nice to talk to others who get it.” For all that Dani told her that her place is here, well. It’s difficult to come around to that idea when you’re still struggling out there on the ice.

When she opens the door again, Jack’s waiting against the opposite wall. Her face is inscrutable, her arms crossed. Clarissa stops, raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Finally, Jack shakes her head. She steps forward, mouth pressed into a thin, determined line. “You’re right, I don’t really get it. Not in that way, at least. But I’ve got your back no matter what, got it?”

She beams. “Aw, Jack, are we having a Moment?” She opens her arms wide. “Let’s hug it out.”

“Oh my god, you’re too much like Marns, no wonder you’re such good friends with him. No, we’re not hugging it out, I’m just letting you know I got you, all right? No, don’t give me that face, let’s just go and buy that dress.”

“ _Jaaaaaaaack_.”

“Okay fine, one hug but that’s it - _mmmmrph!_ ”

Jack’s almost too densely packed for Clarissa to pick her up and spin her around, but she manages one spin. “You’re the best!”

“We’re never doing that again.” But there’s genuine affection in Jack’s eyes as she jerks her head towards to door. “Can we go now?”

Bonding’s the best, Clarissa thinks as she skips after her.

* * *

 

They don’t win every game. Hell, they don’t win most games, and that makes the games they do win feel all the more precious. It’s strange for Clarissa, an odd dynamic when she’s used to steamrolling her opponents. The mentality is difficult and there are days her own goddamn dressing room feels like poison, but when they win, it feels less like the world is ending.

It means drinking and dancing and Clarissa is into it, like she always is, dancing with her team, feeling like it’s all well and good and bonding…

And realizing there’s no Sam.

She frowns instinctively.

“What?” Rasmus mouths, noodle arms still moving like he’s trying to get her to dance again. She gets it, because she’s played with guys that just know how to lighten a mood. It’s contagious and she gets that there are days she’s that sunshine. She’s proud of it, really. It offsets Jack’s natural clouds.

So Clarissa leans in, “Where’s Reino?”

Risto throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Didn’t want to dance.”

And that is just straight up offensive. She’s still polite about excusing herself and weaving through the crowd until she gets to the booth they’d been sharing earlier. Sure enough, Sam’s there, nursing a beer and absently tracing a finger through the condensation marks left by the rest.

“You know, you’re not a guard dog. No one’s going to spike the drinks.”

Sam shrugs. “I’m good here.”

“But you’re not out there,” Clarissa replies, shuffling over until she can bump his shoulder.

Sam smiles, and it’s beautiful and warm. “Promise. Tonight I’m happy just watching.”

She drops back against the booth, looks out over the dancing bodies, picks out Rasmus and Ryno, Jack laughing with Bogo as his arms and legs flail in every direction. She sighs happily for a moment.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Only if you tell me about yours.”

Sam shakes his head. “It’s nothing, Lissy.”

“You’re using Lissy now? How’s that working for you?”

He grimaces. “Not well. It seems a little...juvenile. Not in a bad way, it’s just-”

His continuing search for the perfect nickname is endearing, really. “You’re holding out for the right one. And hey, if you want to talk juvenile, my middle school girl gang called me, ‘La.’”

“That-what. No. Just no.” His look of absolute horror is so hysterical that she has to brace herself against the table. The look hasn’t changed when she finally settles herself down, so she continues to grin at him disarmingly before she slides out of the booth and holds out her hand.

“For that, you have to dance with me.”

“Come on-”

“Nope! Bad nicknames require makeup dances.”

If she’s honest, she’s prepared to really dig her heels in on this. She wants to dance with him, she wants to see him having fun, but he takes her a little off-guard when he says, “Twist my arm, why don’t you.”

She’s too giddy to chirp him about how easy it was to get him up, too busy being weirdly aware of how his hand feels in hers as he drags him out to the floor, already falling into the rhythm to entice him to do the same. He does, slowly, with another glance at the grin that’s still on her face and the easy way her body moves to the beat.

Now the night is perfect.

 

 _It’s so quiet without Jack_.

Sam’s message is sent with the laughing-crying emoji, but Clarissa gets the sense that there’s something else there. It’s been lingering over all of them as the season has gone on, heavy in the room as their losing streaks go longer and there aren’t enough wins to keep it at bay.

She looks around her room, tapping her phone against her thigh, considering. The Moulson’s house is quiet too with her billets out visiting other family over the All-Star break, and Alicia’s left her more than enough food in the fridge…

She climbs from where she’d been sprawled over her bed and heads for the kitchen combing through the food left behind, ideas scrolling through her brain. She hums a little, just a couple of bars of Mamamoo before loading up a couple of bags, and heading for the condo Sam shares with Jack.

“This is unexpected,” Sam greets her, tone mild but face alight.

Clarissa bustles in and heads right for the kitchen. “I’m behind on my dramas and you’ve been avoiding them.”

“I watched _The Master’s Sun-_.”

“One is never enough and I’m determined to bring everyone to the dark side before the end of the season.” She pulls ingredients from the bag while she talks and spreads them across the counter.

“Pizza? It’s not in the diet plan.”

“Cheat night,” Clarissa shoots back. “And we’re going to make it from scratch anyway. More control that way and dough can be fun. I’ll teach you to toss.” She grins at him, thrills to see the shy little smile he gives her in response. “Pull up Spotify. We’re listening to some music while we cook, then we’re going to watch a new drama.”

“Sure, so long as there’s no amnesia.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started on amnesia as a narrative trope,” she mutters, blooming the yeast for the dough. “It’s cute if they’re going for the whole ‘they’d fall in love with each other over and over again’ thing, but in that case it was a soft reset.” Sam makes a soft, confused noise. “A way to keep them apart, rather than exploring the consequences of taking responsibility for the way everyone viewed them.”

He takes the mixed dough and begins kneading. “That wasn’t really on them though, don’t you think? It was their relationship to figure out regardless of what everyone around them was seeing.”

Clarissa moves on to prepping the sauce. Her hands move with automatic precision, making quick work of the onions and garlic. “Of course not, it’s their relationship and screw everyone else. It’s just that they never really got to work through that problem and the amnesia presented another problem entirely.” She pauses to check on his progress with the dough - and has to bite back a giggle. “You have flour in your hair.”

“What?” he automatically reaches up and she has a brief, terrible image of trying to get dried dough out of his hair.

“Leave it, it’s cute,” she remarks, flicking at his forehead in order to distract him. “Now come on, that dough needs a few more minutes of kneading. Have you ever heard of getting dough to the windowpane stage?”

Sam coughs, shaking his head a little bit as though he’s trying to get the flour off. “Definitely not, unless throwing dough at windows is a new baking technique.”

“If it were, you’d be in charge of cleaning it,” she shoots back. “Now, you’re aiming for this…”

The pizza turns out pretty damn good, if a bit crispy for her taste. “But that’s what practice is for,” she tells Sam as they settle in the living room, plates of pizza on their laps.

He smiles, pleased. “So we’re doing this again?”

“Well, Jake can’t be the only one teaching you and Jack how to cook,” she reasons, flipping through the DramaFever app she made Jack download. “Plus we have more dramas to get through. Here.” Strains of classical music drift from the TV. “ _Tomorrow’s Cantabile._ It’s about students at a performing arts school. No complicated plot twists, really good music, and a lot of slapstick.”

“I trust you,” Sam says peaceably, and lets out a surprised hum as he bites into the pizza. “Hey, this is great!”

It is, she thinks, snuggling against him. It’s her perfect night, really. Exactly where she wants to be in her career with the wonderful addition of good food, good people and good television. Life, she thinks, can’t get much better than this.

* * *

 

In February, Jack goes down with her second high ankle sprain in as many seasons and as much as the team intellectually understands one player can’t single handedly win them into the playoffs, it’s a hit they feel. The mood in the room goes from bad to worse and for Clarissa, a happy person by nature, it gets harder and harder to come into the arena every day.

And Clarissa, who is also a problem solver by nature, puts her spare time into trying to figure out ways to cheer the team up.

The idea comes to her in half a prank, half an outreach activity when she falls down a YouTube rabbit hole one night. The marketing and community relations department is into it and then some, long before Clarissa approaches them with a few caveats.

“Jack has to help,” she insists to Nick and Jourdon when they meet to talk about the details of her vision. “Get her involved somehow.”

“She’s sulking?” Jourdon says, both knowingly and sympathetically.

“She needs something to do. She can’t skate.”

“We can make that happen,” Nick agrees easily.

And they do. She makes sure to drag her heels the day of the event, almost to the point where Matt is genuinely distressed they’re going to be late. They’re not, Clarissa knows what she’s doing, but they are the last ones to the dressing room. It’s perfect timing, in Clarissa’s opinion, because she gets the absolute joy of seeing complete confusion on the faces of her teammates.

Casey’s turning over a skate that will most definitely not fit his foot. “The trainer’s pranked us?” he asks Alex, bewildered, and Clarissa almost bites through her cheek to keep her laughter at bay.

Jack’s sitting smugly in her stall, crutches leaning next to her. Clarissa heads there first, nudges Jack’s good foot gently. “Everything ready?” she asks under the confused murmur of their teammates.

“Coach is with the kids now,” Jack replies, barely sparring Clarissa a glance. “Stuff’s set up in the other room.”

Clarissa barely resists the urge to do a shimmy in excitement. She’d known getting Jack involved from the beginning was a great idea, even more when Jack’s proposal had been to bring in the Roswell Park kids. It’s a memory they’ll never forget, and it’s a chance for the team to take a damn breath, for a change. It’s a break from losing, with a bunch of kids to whom hockey is still just a game.

Excited little voices draw Clarissa’s attention to the door and she can feel the thrill of the surprise race down her spine. She can already feel her mood lifting and a moment later, Coach throws open the doors. The kids immediately go silent, awed, disbelieving at the reality of their lives. The Sabres freeze too, confused and surprised.

It’s one of the kids that breaks the silence, pointing at Risto with a loud, “That’s my helmet!”

It’s the proverbial breaking of the dam. The kids pour into the room, most of them aware and avoiding the logo in the middle of the floor. Clarissa ends up helping a sweet little boy, who is too awed to say much of anything, no matter how Sam, seated beside her with a boy who is maybe a couple of years older than Clarissa’s buddy, nudges him to talk. The room is loud with all of the people, all of the chaos, missing gloves and extra tape, but eventually, there are twenty-three small humans in Sabres practice jerseys, all dressed.

“We talked in the video room about how important it is to be dedicated, right?” Coach asks. There are a bunch of bobble-head nods. Clarissa catches Sam’s eye and hides her smile in her shoulder. “Being on time is very serious for us. It shows respect for the team, and commitment. We here have a rule, if you’re the last one on the ice, you do a quick lap.” His eyes dart around the room. “Kids, we’re going to head out. Sabres. You know the drill. Last one on the ice takes their buddy on a lap. You’ll find your stuff in the visitor’s dressing room.”

There’s a lightness to the whole team as they make their way to the visitor’s room, jostling each other, goofy and giddy. Clarissa’s all but bouncing as she heads down the hall, so much so that even a gentle nudge to her shoulder sends her all but careening into Pommer.

“Whoa,” Sam says with a laugh that’s maybe a little apologetic, catching her arm. The momentum carries her back into him a little, but he’s solid, bracing easily against her weight. He’s smiling at her, and there’s something in it that makes butterflies come to life in her stomach. “You do good work.”

With her balance back, Clarissa falls into step with him, putting on her most innocent face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This has you written all over it,” he argues, his voice just loud enough to be heard under the cacophony of the team.

“Roswell’s Jack’s baby,” Clarissa shoots back.

Sam hums and links elbows with her. He’s warm against her side, the same way he’d been strong against the rest of her. Her pulse ratchets up another notch. “Jack was sulking about her ankle. I live with her. Then she came home jacked up-” He eyes her a little judgmentally when she snorts at the pun, “about some secret project she was doing with PR.”

Clarissa blinks. “Jourdon and Nick are exceptional marketing people.”

“Rissy-” He stops and laughs at her expression. “Sounds too much like Cissy, right? Better scrap that one, I don’t want to get punched again.”

“I can’t believe you even thought that was a good idea,” she complains. “ _Cissy_ , honestly.”

“It was an accident!”

 

Sam’s the last one on the ice, though not by much. Clarissa’s distracted the whole time she’s gearing up because Sam’s watching her. She keeps catching him out of the corner of her eye, both soft and piercing at turns, like he’s trying to puzzle her out.

Or maybe just puzzle out how she managed to help Jack with the whole scheme. For some reason, the thought makes her feel a little empty, disappointed.

“What?” she finally asks, quietly as they wait for shooting drills. The kids are getting a chance first and Coach is guiding them carefully through the drill. They have some time to kill.

“You could have done nothing. We would have figured ourselves out.”

Clarissa does consider going with the continued charade that she had nothing to do with it, that her heart isn’t completely full right now because the rink, hell the whole arena, feels light. “We wouldn’t have.”

“Hey-”

“It’s not... “ She sighs. “It’s not a knock, okay? We’re so deep in it, too close. There are only so many pep talks we can get, so many words of encouragement we can repeat before they’re just words.” She waves out at the ice, to the laughing faces and the ease in the shoulders of the team. “Kids make you forget. They’re just… living their lives, you know?”

Sam’s close, closer than Clarissa remembers him being when she’s begun her rambling answer. Their shoulders would be touching, if either of them leaned over just a little. Clarissa almost does, feels the pull of it with no real reason she can figure out. He’s smiling in a way that makes Clarissa’s heart feel too big in her chest. It’s sunlight on her face, a mug of warm tea in her hands, fingers clasped together in the dark. “What?” she mumbles, a little self-consciously.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should be checking for wings,” he teases gently.

From anyone else, that line would be cheesy, practically greasy. With Sam, it’s so sincere that she can feel her face flush. “What - that’s - no,” she stammers.

His smile is still soft when he nudges her shoulder. “Just say thank you. Take the compliment.”

She laughs. It’s a little self-conscious. She’s never been good at compliments, but her smile is a little warmer, and very, very real when she says. “Thanks, Sam.”

She chalks the pink of his cheeks up to exertion when he says, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

Auston sends her a link in March, just before the end of the season. Clarissa blinks at it as the link loads. Then it dawns on her: with all the rookies in the line up – her and Alex and Casey – Sabres TV had produced a bunch of little shorts on each one. Clarissa had forgotten all about it.

This one is hers.

 _Is it embarrassing?_ she sends back.

 _Not for you,_ is Auston’s response and it makes Clarissa rub her hands together in glee. The video starts with her history, her stats in junior, her stats for the year, then it slides into her teammates.

“Describe Pu in one word?” Bogo asks with a little chuckle. “Crazy.”

“Fun,” is Kyle’s simple response.

“Happy. She’s always happy,” Sam decides, his grin wide and bright. “She always has some way to look at what’s going on and make it happy.”

Bogo’s face comes back on screen. “She’s just always an adventure. Has been since training camp.”

Matt’s face comes up next. “You never know what kind of unexpected talent she’s going to show you next.”

Another title card flashes. This time with _Clarissa likes…_

“K-pop,” Alex responds without hesitation. “She’s crazy about it. But she has to wait for her turn like the rest of us do with the locker room speakers.” There’s a pause, like the interviewer felt Alex had more to say. Alex laughs, shaking his head. “It’s fun like she is, sometimes it’s just a little more than we can handle.”

“There’s such a list,” is Sam’s answer and Clarissa finds herself blushing despite herself. “She likes a lot of stuff. Hates country though. We fight over control of Spotify.”

“Dancing,” Jack answers with a sly little smile that says she has a secret. “Have you seen the video from juniors? Marns is in it too.”

‘No’ comes up as a subtitle, the answer from the producer.

Jack whips out her phone. “It’s something else,” she says, smile growing.

There’s an insert of a few seconds of the video itself that has Clarissa laughing softly. This also explains the uptick in Twitter notifications. The video flashes back to Jack’s grin. “She just does this. She’s taught the Moulson kids.”

“Yeah, she gets along great with my kids,” Matt says. “She’s been great to have around since Jack left.”

“Kids.” Ryan’s response is tacked right on to that statement. “Pu loves kids.”

Lehner agrees. “She’s always begging the trainers for extra pucks to give kids before games. First one to volunteer for anything that involves kids.”

“One of the first things she asked Alicia and I about when she got here was outreach that had to do with kids. The children’s hospital and stuff,” Matt adds. “She always wants to reach out, to give back.”

Pomer’s face is alight when they flash to him. “Oh man, cooking. She loves cooking, which is amazing for us. There was talk of a rookie Master Chef or something, I’d love to see that. I think they figured it would be unfair once they realized it was something she could really do.”

They flash back to Sam again. “Yeah she cooks all the time. I think she’s the first rookie Alicia’s let use her kitchen. I own appliances I never use just because she’ll come over and cook when she feels the itch. It’s always good food, too. She packed our freezer once. I don’t think Jack and I ate takeout for weeks after she started coming over.”  

Then, _Clarissa is_ …

Bogo’s flat out giggling when the screen flashes to him. “Sunshine.”

“Always happy,” Z agrees. “Did someone already say that? Reino? Yeah.” He nods.

On the screen, a little tally pops up and as the video cycles through her teammates, there’s a running score of how many times people relate her to optimism, sunshine or happiness. Casey’s one of the very few who say something different.

“Helpful,” he says with a gratitude that makes Clarissa grin. “On the ice, yeah because she can slip around guys like, three times her size and be gone before you blink, but off ice too. I’d own a lot more pink clothing if it weren’t for her.”

“Oh, he mentioned the laundry thing?” Alex snickers, the little shit, as if he’s any better at laundry. “Yeah, she helped him out once. I think Bogo got him red socks for Christmas because the team found out he dyed a bunch of white clothes pink with red socks. Well, he threw a lot of other things in there too, but it was probably the socks.”

“Secretly evil, I think,” Lehner comments, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “One of the rookies is pulling some pretty epic pranks and I think it’s her, but I have no proof.” He wags his finger, presumably at the question of, _what kind of pranks?_ “Some are pretty embarrassing so I’m not going to say all of them but there was...red dye? In the showers. Very brief and it all washed out, but it looked like a scene from a horror movie.”

That was one of her best ideas yet, the little cakes of red dye in the showerheads. It’s one of those pranks where she can’t see the outcome, but the aftermath is always hysterical because the guys talk about it for _days,_ trying to figure out whodunnit.

_We bonded over…_

Rasmus sits up a little straighter on screen, his grin stretching wide across his face. “Korean dramas. That stuff is the-“ The video bleeps him out and Clarissa loses it laughing. “She, Jake and I get caught up on the plane but it’s hard. There’s so many. The drama is crazy.”

“Watching them is sometimes better than the dramas,” Jake says, unapologetically. “I don’t follow them as closely as Risto. They’ll talk about it in the locker room and it’s like ping pong. No one can follow what’s going on. I think Risto’s even trying to learn Korean now.”

“It’s their thing,” Sam says with a shrug. “She tried to get me into them during All Star Weekend, but I think we gave up. They can be hard to follow.”

Finally, _Favorite Memory So Far?_

“I asked her if she was going to show us her her handshake cellys, and you know what she said to me?” Alex shakes his head, but the affection is so clear in his voice. “‘Are you going to help me score some sick goals?’ So, the first time she had a goal off my assist, she shook my hand. It was pretty great.”

“LA,” Bogo says instantly, grinning. “She dragged us to some karaoke place, just all of us in a room. It was a lot more fun that way, since we didn’t have to worry about singing in front of strangers. I had the best time.”

“The masquerade ball.” Kyle has the biggest smile on his face. “She taught us - I think she got some help from Steph Jones - and our dates how to do this Viennese waltz that started off the whole thing and it was spectacular. You guys know, you filmed the rehearsals and stuff. I have a feeling we’re going to be doing a lot more dancing because of her and that’s pretty cool.”

The editor does, indeed, insert a brief clip from rehearsal, specifically of her walking around with her megaphone calling out the beat and the steps.

Sam’s blushing when the video cuts back to him, gnawing a little nervously on his lower lip. She wants to reach through the screen and pinch his cheeks. “It’s kind of an ongoing thing, but trying to find a nickname,” he admits. “There are only so many variations on Pu that you can come up with, you know?”

_+1: Nicknames_

That one makes her snicker. Whatever intern worked on this is totally a fangirl or fanboy. She makes a mental note to track them down later; she could use some new fic recs now that her favorite show has been cancelled.

“Lissy,” Jack says promptly. “I can’t take credit for that one though; Marns - Mitch Marner came up with it when they were in juniors.”

Matt scratches behind his ear, grinning. “A lot of the guys call her Pu-er. It’s a terrible nickname, honestly, but she doesn’t mind it that much. Told us that pu’er is one of her favorite teas so it’s close enough. Honestly, Alicia and I call her Clarissa. The kids take after Jack though, and call her Lissy.”

Rasmus brightens. “Bong Soon!” he exclaims. “The heroine from _Strong Woman Do Bong Soon_. They’re really similar. Good drama, you guys should watch it.”

Sam leans forward, presumably listening to a question. “Have we found one yet?” He says, and the subtitles emphasize the nickname topic. “No, no. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

The producer doesn’t press, which surprises Clarissa a little. Sure, their team generally knows when to pry and when to pass, but this is prime PR material, a story that is obviously waiting to be told. Yet, she also knows that for her, for Sam of all people, it has been complicated. He takes it seriously and she’s honoured by that respect.

 _None of that was embarrassing_ , she sends Auston. _You’re just jealous my team is amazing._

 _Reinhart is embarrassing. He’s bleeding hearteyes onto the floor,_ is the response she gets. Then a few moments later: _Mitchy cackled for twenty minutes straight and then watched it three more times, just to prove to himself he wasn’t seeing things._

Clarissa groans and hits call because honestly, she’s sick of having to set the record straight every single time she and Sam spend five minutes together, or every time he talks about her; every time she talks about him. “Do I need to help define hearteyes, Matthews?”

Auston rolls her eyes. Clarissa can hear it through the phone line. “No need. It wouldn’t be the right definition anyway. Or is that just willful ignorance?”

“For the love of-” She swears, the kind of phrase that would earn her a whack with the rice scoop from her grandma. “ _Et tu,_ Auston?”

“There’s nothing ignorant about anything going on up here. We’ve gone into this season with our eyes wide open,” is Auston’s bland response. “But hey. We can’t all be Pricey or Nuge, I guess.”

Clarissa takes the out Auston offers. She already hates the conversation. “I hear Mitchy got mono,” she says instead, because nothing solidifies a friendship more than chirping a common dumbass.

There’s a moment, a huff, and then, “That’s on the DL, but let me tell you this story. This _idiot_ , right? The diagnosis comes in and he calls Dylan first. He _calls Dylan,_ Liss, and she freaks out because it’s the kissing disease and who has Mitchy been hanging out with and making out with while she’s in Erie - winning championships, but that’s of course besides the point-”

“Why is he like this,” she mumbles, resisting the urge to bash her head against the wall.

“ _Right?_ So he’s panicking, and-”

On the screen, Sam’s face is frozen where she’s paused the video before the end card. She smiles to herself and shakes her head. His stupid face, Mitchy’s stupid _everything…_ she traded one idiot for another and she’s really not that sad about it, if she’s honest. Not sad at all.

* * *

 

It seems almost ridiculous to be fighting this hard, even though their season’s all but over, playoffs a shattered dream. That’s no excuse for giving up, though. They owe it to themselves and to their fans to play every game like it means something, and they do. At least, they do to her. It’s a way to show that she’s not giving up, that she’s still going to give everything she has because that’s just what they _do._

Still. Everyone’s exhausted, their reflexes off, skating like they’re wading through thick pea soup. It’s their third game against the Leafs this month, with another looming next week. Even Mitch is moving slower, something she fully intends to take advantage of as soon as -

Rasmus gets the puck on her tape and she sees the lane opening up between her and Alex, almost as if it’s in slow motion. Blue jerseys are bearing down on her but they’re slow, too slow, and the ACC is deafening in her ears.

But the puck slides easily over to Alex and it’s just him and Andersen.

The goal light flicks on and suddenly she’s swept up in Rasmus’s arms, borne towards a screaming Alex and the rest of their team.

It’s a win. A win in her hometown, with her family watching. A win to soothe some of the sting of losing their post-season and it’s only a little, but oh does it feel good.

She’s giddy in the locker room, and so thrilled to actually talk to the reporters. She soaks up the attention like a sponge, the complete opposite of Jack and her eternal quest to hide from the questions and comparisons.

“You and Eichel had some pretty tough battles out there with Matthews. Things got pretty slapdash out there towards the end, kind of like a catfight don’t you think?”

Clarissa blinks, the question cutting straight through her joy. It’s utterly and completely tone deaf, and looking at this guy, who’s looking back at her so expectantly, he seems to think nothing of it.

She considers for a moment, thinking of all the times she’s seen the other women field questions designed to pit them against each other, as if women can’t inhabit the same space without getting catty and petty. These little comments are insidious, and make their hockey seem a little lesser like the “woman” thing gets in the way. Most of the women go Sid’s route of bland diplomacy. Others, like Marcia and Tyler and Jack, resort for the sarcasm.

“That’s pretty rude,” she comments, going straight for the jugular. “And sexist. Why would you say something like that?” She blinks, radiating harmless guile.

All eyes swing towards the guy, who straightens a little bit, indignant. “It’s just what I observed-”

“Well it’s wrong, and you should apologize.” She tilts her head to the side, ignoring Alex’s sudden coughing fit next door and the way Sam looks ready to charge the scrum.

The guy chokes, but in the face of her unrelenting gaze and the censure of his fellow reporters, he manages a small, “Sorry.”

“To answer your question, it was a tough game, but they’re always tough. Everyone is tired, but everyone’s still giving it everything they can. So yeah, tempers can get a bit high, but it happens. Auston’s amazing, she’s one of my best friends and one of the best hockey players period. I’m better when I’m on the ice with her. I can’t speak for Eichs but she’d probably say the same.” Half of the locker room is silent now, listening to her, but she plunges on. “We’re all in the same situation. Our lungs are burning, our muscles are screaming, our feet hate us and all we want to do is win. So of course we take chances and sometimes that ends up going wrong. But it went right for us tonight and that’s all we can ask.”

Some of the reporters are nodding (the women with satisfaction), and the original reporter looks as though he’s swallowed a lemon. Good.

Her parents are waiting, as are some of the other guys’ families, and they barely have any time to hug and chat before the team is herded back to the airport. Clarissa’s disappointed - she didn’t even get to see Auston or Mitch, but they’re playing the Red Wings at home in two days so everyone’s anxious to get back.

Jack pulls her down into the seat next to her, looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream. “You should see the reactions in the group chat,” is all she says.

Clarissa grins, a little mystified, and obliges.

She has Twitter notifications, _again_ , but skips over them in favor of the GB chat, scrolling up to where Dani’s attached a cell phone video of her television screen - and it’s Clarissa’s interview. _Well said, Clarissa._

 _CALL HIM OUTTTTTTT BITCH YASSSSSSSS._ Predictably, that’s Brenda.

Steph just has a whole line of applause emojis.

 _Proud of you, rookie. Don’t give them an inch._ That’s Marcia.

 _Slayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy._ Segs.

 _You were asked that?_ Auston puts in an eye-rolling emoji. _What a dumbass. Eichs and I weren’t even fighting._

“I wish there was an emoji for curtseying, or something,” she tells Jack, and sends a GIF instead. _It was dumb. Just had to call it out for what it was, yanno._

She has to turn her phone off after that, but when they land back in Buffalo, there are even more Twitter notifications, and messages from her friends all over the league.

The best one is from her very disused thread with Sid, where there’s a simple thumbs-up emoji.

Jack nudges her, smile proud and sharp. “Don’t know if you could be more accepted into the NHL if you tried, rookie.”

Clarissa feels her heart turn over and thump hard, thrilled and proud of herself. She can handle the media, she can hang with the girls, and she can slay on the ice. So she nudges Jack back, “Not so much a rookie anymore.”

“No,” Jack agrees, tossing her arm around Clarissa’s shoulder. “Guess you’re not.”

* * *

 

“DAMMIT LISSY,” Jack howls as the trainers slap name tags on the backs of their shirts. “This is all your fault!”

“Sorry not sorry,” she cackles, rubbing her hands together. There’s some confused muttering in the background, but she can see when it dawns on Sam, Rasmus, and Jake, their expressions ranging from resignation (Jake) to sheer glee (Rasmus).

“Your name tag is going to be first, I swear to god.”

Clarissa just smiles serenely. Management actually listened to her, took her list of variety show inspired activities, and they’re actually using them. Team building and entertainment for the fans - what’s not to love?

“What have you gotten us into, Lissy?” Matt asks, his smile indulgent. Matt, unlike Alicia and the kids, has not been suckered into Korean drama or Korean variety night, so he’s just as clueless about what’s coming as everybody else.

It’s another season, embarking on more hockey as well as continuing her secret prank campaign. Some of this year’s rookie batch are still shouldering some of the blame for the balloon popping in the shower incident during training camp. She would feel bad about it, except the screams from the showers had been hysterical and no one even suspected her.

Well, Casey probably has some idea, but he hasn’t said anything, so.

The two “teams” have their run of the Harbor Centre - two rinks and their seating areas, multiple locker rooms, the maze of hallways and stairs, a training center, classrooms, and all the bathrooms.

“All right Lissy, you’re the only one who knows what the hell is going on, aside from Jack, so what’s the plan here?” Kyle asks, arms akimbo.

My time has come, Clarissa thinks gleefully, all but rubbing her hands together. “Okay, so you know the general gist, rip off the nametags, last member or members standing win for their team. If your nametag is ripped off, you have to go to the classroom until the game is over.” Eliminated members would be announced via intercom.

“We’re going to have to go around in groups of two to four, it’s no fun if you swarm around in big groups. As for nametag ripping strategy…” She gestured to Sam. “Reino, come here.” She wastes no time getting right into his space, slipping her arms around him in a pseudo hug, ignoring the way he immediately stiffens at the contact. “Sometimes the best way is just to attack head on, because you can grapple a little bit and just-” With one quick, efficient tug, she rips it off. “It’s more ideal than just running after someone and hoping that you can grab the nametag from behind.”

When she steps away, some of the guys are hiding grins and Sam is beet red. “What?”

“Grapple and get the nametag, got it,” Matt says with a completely straight face. “What else?”

She glances at all of them, suspicious. “Not much else, really. If you feel like there’s a huge imbalance with the opposition, like you come up on Ryan, sometimes the best thing to do is sacrifice someone. Because while he’s trying to rip off one nametag, another member can come up to try and grab his, you know? And if in doubt, run away.” That gets a round of scoffs and tiny jeers and she just rolls her eyes. “Hey, there is nothing wrong with running away and living to fight later.”

Their team is starting in the Key Bank rink, and Jack’s in the New Wave rink. A few of them - her, Kyle, Casey, Jack, Ryan, Rasmus, and shiny new number one draft pick, Rasmus #3 - have GoPros strapped to their chests. The rest of the TV crew is split up and she feels a little bad for them, because they’re about to get one hell of a workout running after them.

“And the race starts - now!”

She peels off with Matt and Sam, sprinting up to the upper levels. They hear voices almost immediately as they pop out into the hallway by one of the concession area - voices that definitely don’t belong to their team.

“Go further down that way,” Sam whispers, pointing off to the right. “I’ll bait them and bring them right to you.”

Clarissa flashes him a thumbs up. “Yes, let’s go with an ambush. We can keep switching off.” It’s still a little early into training camp. Some of the newer faces, especially those that hadn’t had women on their teams, are still treating her and Jack a little gingerly though they’ll soon get over it.

They have to. She isn’t going to allow any of that nonsense, and they’ll learn soon enough that the women in the NHL are not to be treated lightly. If they are, they’ll find themselves with a minus to their names because someone has gone and scored a goal. Sid does it, time and time again, and so do the others but it’s more prevalent with Sid.

In no time at all, Sam comes rocketing back with two rookies on his heels. She and Matt pounce from different directions, and they’re so surprised that they don’t even think to defend themselves. “Better luck next time, guys,” Clarissa laughs as they slink away to the classroom.

Yelps and shouts echo down in the Key Bank rink, and they immediately run to investigate. They barely survive a run in with Ryan and his group, and Clarissa hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Jack yet - she’s probably running around with Robin and Zemgus.

Sam has to run to the bathroom, leaving her and Matt outside to stand watch.

Her fingers twitch a little bit in anticipation of what’s coming. A camera crew stops beside them, presumably to catch their breath and there will never be a more perfect moment. “Ugh, I’m actually a little tired,” she laughs, inching over beside Matt and leaning her head on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Aw come on, I thought this game was right up your alley, you should be able to run all night.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, just as her fingers inch up and rip the name tag off his back. “I can definitely do this all night.”

Matt’s look of comical disbelief is absolutely priceless. “You...what? What the hell?”

The camera crew is practically jumping up and down with glee. “Shhhh,” Clarissa whispers with a grin, holding a finger up to her lips. “You’re out, so you can’t say anything. Just head on down to the classroom, okay?”

He stalks off, expression torn between perplexed and pissed off, the camera crew trotting happily at his heels. No doubt he’ll enjoy a good bit of venting - hopefully in no one else’s earshot. Meanwhile, she runs off in the opposite direction, ears pricked for the bathroom door to open.

Finally, it does. “Clarissa? Matt? Where are you guys?”

She immediately comes running back. “Sam, come on, come on, I think I lost them!”

He follows without question, following her into a nearby stairwell. They both listen intently for a moment, just to make sure there is no one else hiding out there. “What happened?” he hisses.

“Other team came by, we tried to lure them away but then Matty had to sacrifice himself so that I could get away.” She bites the inside of her mouth to keep her grin from escaping - luckily, it just makes her look more upset.

There’s a game within a game afoot, and hopefully her counterpart on the other team is doing their job.

Still, she needs Sam right now, so he’s safe yet. And hockey players, as some of the most ridiculously competitive people on the planet, will probably do much of the work for her.

When it does come down to the end, it’s her and Sam against Jack and Ryan, facing off at center ice in the Key Bank rink. “How are we going to do this?” Sam mutters to her, eyeing their opponents.

Clarissa shrugs. “I’ll take Eichs, you take Ryan?”

“You do realize they outweigh us both?” But he’s already inching forward, his eyes fixed on a grinning Ryan.

“Eh. I’m wily, you’re wily. I have faith. Just remember to try and get at that name tag from every possible angle when you’re grappling, you never know what might happen.”

“Pu, you lasted a hell of a lot longer than I expected!” Ryan exclaims cheerfully, never tearing his eyes from Sam. “But then, you’re the one who suggested it. I’ll admit that it’s been one of my favorite training camp games so far.”

She beams, genuinely touched by the comment. “Thanks, Ryan!”

“Still doesn’t mean Eichs and I are going to let you win.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sam replies with much bravado, and leaps for him. The two of them crash to the ice and the grappling begins. Clarissa has to give it to Sam: even though Ryan’s stronger and bulkier, he’s wily, twisting himself around so that Ryan can’t get a firm grip on him.

Jack scoffs and crosses her arms. “Can we get this over with?”

“Working on it,” Ryan grunts.

But Jack isn’t talking to Ryan. Clarissa snickers. “I’d be happy to.”

She and Jack move in tandem towards the guys, who pay them no mind, especially when Jack helps Ryan grab Sam. Between the two of them, he stills long enough for Clarissa to reach down and rips off his name tag with absolutely no hesitation. Before he and Ryan can so much as blink, Jack flips Ryan and rips off _his_ name tag.

“What the _hell_ ,” Ryan bursts out. Sam’s still staring at Clarissa and his name tag, mouth agape from his spot spread eagled on the ice.

“Yeah, what the hell?”

The speaker crackles. “Spy team, Jack Eichel and Clarissa Pu - wins!”

Sam puts together the pieces first as Jack and Clarissa high five. “What...you guys had to eliminate _us_?”

Clarissa pulls off her own name tag, where a second, smaller one that says SPY in red letters was hiding. “Technically, only one of us needed to survive the whole thing for us to win, but…”

“What was the fun in that?” Jack reasons, smirking. “It was a good challenge. Man, I’m going to have to apologize to Zemgus, he looked _so_ betrayed when I cornered him in the locker room.”

“That was _you?”_ Ryan yelps. “But you said-”

Sam points at Clarissa. “Then you’re the one who eliminated Matt, not Jack’s team?”

“Oh man, he’s going to pout at you for _days_ ,” Jack cackles, helping Ryan to his feet. “I have to see this.” They trot off, the camera crew following close behind. Presumably to film the aftermath.

“I see that we can’t let you and Jack be a team too often,” Sam observes as Clarissa pulls him up. “You’re like...who are those two on _Running Man_? The Commander and the Ace?”

“Aw, you _have_ been paying attention! While that would be amazing, it would probably get boring, beating you guys all the time.” She dodges his playful swat, laughing. “So if Jack’s the Commander and I’m the Ace, what does that make you?” She cocks her head. “My Monday boyfriend?”

Sam mirrors her, crossing his arms and just. Wow. Arms. The offseason has been good to him. “Why just the ‘Monday boyfriend’?”

Why does it seem like her answer is incredibly important? He’s watching her so intently, like whatever she says _matters._ But then, Sam’s always made her feel that way, no matter what she’s talking about. “Because they only film on Mondays, so their loveline - that relationship - is only on Mondays,” she begins, uncertain. The way he’s looking at her is giving her goosebumps.

“Hmmm.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can be your Monday boyfriend, then.”

The jolt of hurt is unexpected. Part of her feels like running to Jack and the rest of the women and going, _you guys were just seeing things after all, Sam doesn’t like me that way_ but...why does being right suddenly feel so wrong? “I mean, it is a loveline, it’s just fake-”

“Exactly,” Sam interrupts, and when did he get so close? And his face...she’s never seen that combination of expressions before, hopeful and determined and a little scared. “I don’t do pretend, Lissa, and if I were to be your boyfriend-” He makes a face, the same one when he stumbles across a nickname that doesn’t work. Like the word tastes bad. “Your _partner,_ I’d want it to be for more than just Mondays.”

Her ears are ringing. _Lissa. Partner. Forever._ Those three words keep playing, over and over and over in her head. In her heart. She kind of feels like she’s swallowed the sun or something. “I’m sorry, can you run that by me again?”

And now he just looks fond, so fond, but there’s a little bit of a tremor in his hand as he reaches out to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. That realization, that they’re both sort of on boggy ground, helps her more than anything else. “Which part?”

“All of it,” she whispers. “But start with Lissa.”

“Lissa.” Sam looks surprised for a moment. “Lissa. _Lissa._ ” His smile is sudden, and beatific. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“The perfect nickname.”

“The perfect nickname,” he agrees. His eyes crinkle. “Does it need the perfect k-drama confession, too?”

“No.” Even as she says it, moments from the past year are playing in her head like a highlight reel. Defending her at the beginning of the season. That moment on the beach. The hand-holding, the cuddling. The video. The _nicknames._ Jack was right. “I don’t need it.” She grins, and loops her arms around his neck. “So, let’s not be a Monday couple. Let’s just be a couple.”

His hands are warm on her waist. “I like the sound of that.”

There’s something almost defies definition or explanation when Sam calls her Lissa. She has a million nicknames, that’s the story of her life as an Asian-Canadian and a hockey player. When her family calls her _gwaigwai_ or _neuih_ , she knows that her roots run deep and she’s part of something bigger. When teammates yell out _PUUUUU_ she’s folded into a big, crazy hockey family whose members are constantly moving, but their connections remain. _Clary_ makes her feel ridiculous and _Clarissa_ is just...formal. _Ris_ and _Lissy_ make her feel warm and happy inside.

But when Sam just kind of mushes all the syllables in her name together and calls her _Lissa,_ with that look that’s so soft and awed? She feels loved.

Between that and the rest of the team, the NHL women, and her family, she’s feeling a hell of a lot better about this season than the last.

Which is why it’s not scary at all to stand up in front of the locker room, Sam’s hand in hers, and announce, “We’re dating.”

Alex nudges Casey. “Act surprised,” he mutters under his breath.

“Wow!”

“What!”

“I can’t believe it!”

Clarissa rolls her eyes at all the exaggerated expressions. Rasmus has both of his hands on his face, for god’s sake, and Matty’s beaming like they’re Georgie and Mila dressed as Adventure Time characters. Jack, on the other hand, is losing her shit. “You’re all assholes.”

“I’m afraid we’re stuck with them.” Sam presses a kiss to the back of her hand and dodges a roll of tape.

“Somehow, I think we’ll survive.”

It’s going to be a great season.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jo makes no apologies for any and all K-pop, K-drama, and Running Man references. And if the 2015 Knights weren't peak Boy In Luv era then...I don't know what they were. Ask below or on Tumblr if you want me to ramble on about who danced what part because I totally figured that out as well. The link to Clarissa's K-pop playlist can be found [here.](https://open.spotify.com/user/0ag6wlpiahx4xx79trz6jnwom/playlist/5YvSteeGYKOSnFukA3dP5h)
> 
> Big shoutout to blackglass, for helping us figure out aspects of Clarissa's Chinese-Canadian identity.
> 
> You can find us on [Tumblr!](www.wonthetrade.tumblr.com)


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